The Guardian
by YourAce
Summary: Bella was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She saw the killer, he saw her-only one of them can live. Edward thought he knew the risks of the assignment but he was wrong. He's the guardian of a woman being hunted by the best assassin the world. AU/AH
1. Prologue

A federal judge has been murdered. There is only one witness & an assassin wants her dead. Edward Cullen thought he knew the risks of the assignment. He was wrong. AU/AH

Prologue

"Can I take Mom the flowers?"

They were not allowed inside the ICU, but the nurse who had come out to the waiting room nodded anyway. Janelle knew what the boy did not, and it made her want to cry. His mother was dying. Let him take the flowers.

Edward was such a polite young man, patiently sitting alone in the ICU waiting room for the brief visits allowed each hour. He had been coming for the last nine days. A neighbor who worked at the hospital brought him in each morning, and each evening took him home.

He had brought roses with him today, three of them, carefully wrapped with a damp paper towel around the stems, foil around that. There were grass stains on the knees of his jeans. He had told her yesterday that he was tending the rose bushes during his mom's absence.

"Can I get you something to eat? A grilled cheese sandwich maybe?"

"No, thank you."

She was positive the boy was hungry, but there had been a tirade the one and only time his father had come to the hospital and found him sharing a sandwich with an orderly. Edward had politely refused the offers of food ever since.

"The chaplain is with her now," Janelle told him, and the boy's relief was visible.

"He prays good."

"You pray wonderfully too." She had seen him with his mother's Bible, struggling to sound out the words as he read.

"I try."

He pushed off the molded plastic chair, not tall enough for his feet to reach the floor when he was sitting down. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"You're welcome Edward."

She watched him walk to the glass door of the ICU, use all of his weight to pull it open.

He hadn't asked her if his mom were getting better. It was the first time he had not asked.

* * *

It was hard to breathe; her lungs kept filling with fluid. She had rallied today, and it was with a sense of urgency she knew she had to see her son. Esme heard Edward before she saw him and wiped away any sign of the straining, smiling toward the door. He had come in escorted by the supervising nurse, carrying flowers.

Her heart tugged at the sight of him, wearing his favorite baseball shirt, washed but wrinkled, and blue jeans that would need a stain remover. He had asked yesterday how to do the laundry right.

She hugged him, ignoring the IVs, marshaling her strength to make her grip firm. Her smile came from her heart. "You brought me flowers."

"I picked your roses. Was that okay?"

"Very okay. They're beautiful." She laid them on the blanket at her chest so she could enjoy them.

The chair scraped against the tile floor as Edward pulled it to the edge of her bed.

He eagerly told her about the kittens at the neighbors and the way the black one with one white paw liked chasing a feather duster. She let him talk, smiling at the right places, watching him, holding his hand. Her son. The joy of her life. The doctor had told him laughter was good medicine, and he had latched on to that and taken it seriously, coming with a story each day to make her laugh.

She would ask about his morning, but in the last couple days he had started to avoid answering that question. It wasn't going well at home, and he wanted to be her guardian and not tell her. She brushed her fingers through his hair; it would need to be cut soon. She hoped he didn't end up having to do it himself. His father wouldn't think of it.

"Mom?"

She had drifted on him; the story was over. She smiled an apology. "I'm laughing inside, honey."

"It wasn't very funny."

That drew a chuckle.

Her strength was fading and she could hear the wheeze returning.

Edward's hand in hers squeezed tight. "Shall I get the nurse?" he asked, his voice calm but his eyes were anxious.

Two minutes with him. It wasn't enough. But the reality could not be denied. "Yes." He moved to slip his hand from hers, and instead she tightened her hold. "Before… you do. I want my kiss."

He grinned. He was a boy again instead of the solemn young man. He leaned across the railing to rub his nose against, hers, then kissed both cheeks European style. "Love you, Mom."

"I love you too." She held him tight.

"I know."

He went to get the nurse.

She panted for breath. They would clear her lungs again, and soon would have no choice but to put her on the respirator. She feared she would never come off it. The doctor's reassuring words could not change what she knew in her spirit was coming. She gripped the roses and a thorn pierced her finger. Despite the fever she was shivering again.

She would be leaving Edward with only his father. It was a heavy burden to place on an eight-year-old's faith. A single tear escaped to slide down her cheek. She had already cried for her husband and her son, for everything lost that could have been. Tears now would literally choke her.

Esme closed her eyes and focused on living one more day.

* * *

Edward scuffed his tennis shoe against the tile floor and stared out the waiting room window, wiping furiously at the tears. He had to stop crying; they would see and they wouldn't let him visit anymore. The thought was a panic rising in his chest. He gulped back a sob and worked his jaw.

She wasn't getting better.

He had to pray harder.


	2. One

One

U.S. Marshal Edward Cullen tucked the cellular phone tighter against his shoulder as he studied the latest photographs sent by the North Washington district office. Eighteen faxes. The picture quality grainy at best; the information about each individual sketchy. Each had made threats against judges attending this July conference at the Chicago Jefferson Renaissance Hotel. The pages crinkled as only cheap fax paper could as he thumbed though them, memorizing each one.

"Rosalie, what are you not telling me?" He was trying to have a telephone conversation with his sister while he worked and it was…interesting. He would have said aggravating, but he loved Rosalie too much to get annoyed with her easily.

His sister Rosalie Cullen could be clear or ambiguous at will. As a hostage negotiator she knew how to choose her words, and she was being deliberately obtuse at the moment. It was 7:05 PM Friday night; Supreme Court Justice Phillip Roosevelt would give the keynote speech at 8:00 PM before an audience of over twelve thousand, and Edward did not have time to read between the lines.

Rosalie was trying to tell him something without breaking a confidence; that told him it was family related. And it was important enough she was willing to go to the edge of that confidence to let him know about it; that told him it was serious.

"She was supposed to tell you last night…"

Edward flipped back to the ninth fax and frowned. Something about the picture was triggering a glimmer of memory. Tom Libour: Caucasian, early forties, clean shaven. It was an old memory, and he could feel it flitting just beyond his recall. He didn't forget cases he had worked. Maybe something his partner had worked? He scrawled a note beside the photo, requesting the incident report be pulled. He passed the stack of faxes back to his deputy. "Who?" Alice, Leah, or Emily? In a family of seven, Rosalie had just cut the list in half.

The seven of them were related, but not by blood – by choice. At the orphanage –Trevor House- the decision to become their own family had made a lot of sense; two decades later it still did. As the oldest, thirty-eight, he accepted the guardianship of the group; as the next in line Rosalie protected it, kept her finger on the family pulse. He didn't mind the responsibility, but it often arrived at inconvenient times. What was going on?

"I've said too much already; forget I called."

"Rose—"

"Edward." Her own frustration came back at him with the bite in her voice. "I didn't ask to be the one she chose to tell. I'm stuck. I'll push her to tell you; it's the best I can do."

The family was close, but Rosalie—she was the one he talked with in the middle of the night; they had shared the dark days. They were the oldest, the closest, and there was no one he trusted more than her. "How serious is it?"

He retrieved his black tuxedo jacket from the back of a folding chair. He would be standing behind the Supreme Court justice during the speech doing his best to look interested while he did his real job- decide who in the crowd might want to shoot the old man.

"I'm pacing the floors at night."

Edward, reaching to straighten the lapel of his jacket, stopped. Rosalie had the nerve to walk into situations where a guy held a bomb; the last thing she did was overreact. Something that had her that worried- his eyes narrowed. "Who Rosalie?" He couldn't take the weight off her shoulders if he didn't now. If Rosalie had given her word, she would never say, but he couldn't just leave it. He needed to know.

"Can you get free later tonight?"

Time was tight. This was the biggest judicial conference of the year, but he wasn't about to say no. Sam would do him a favor… "The banquet and its aftermath should be wrapped by up ten thirty, I can meet you after that."

"We'll join you even if I have to drag her there," Rosalie replied grimly.

"Deal. And even if it's just you, come over."

"I'll be there. Besides, it's probably the only way I'll get to see Emmett.

Edward spotted FBI Special Agent Emmett Richman on the other side of the room, deep in a discussion with the hotel security chief.

This conference had attracted explosive media attention. The Supreme Court was about to go conservative. With the announcement by the president of a nominee to replace retiring Justice Luke Blackwood, the landscape of the law across the nation would forever change. Most of the judges on the president's short list were in attendance. Emmett had drawn the unenviable job of trying to figure out how to control and manage the media access.

"He's here. Do you want to talk to him?" Emmett and Rosalie were dating. Emmett had even gone so far as to formally ask all the guys in the family for permission. It was serious on her side too- Rosalie didn't let just anybody outside of the family get close to her heart.

"No, I know you're swamped. I just miss him."

She was in love. Everyone in the family knew that. Her face brightened when she saw Emmett, and that impassive control she kept around her emotions, so necessary for her job, disappeared. Edward kidded her about being love struck and she teased him back about hovering. That was okay; she needed a big brother watching out for her. "Then you definitely need to come over tonight. I'll tell Emmett to expect you."

"Let me surprise him. Besides, knowing my job, I'll probably get yanked by a page on my way over there."

She sounded irked, and he enjoyed that. "Love can be so rough."

"Just wait; your turn is coming."

He wasn't seeing anyone now, and short of something colliding with him, at the moment he didn't have time to notice anyone. His hands were full with his job and the Cullen clan. But knowing Rosalie, she would probably try to set him up the first chance she got. She loved to meddle in his life, just like he did in hers.

And he knew if she did he'd have to grouse about it just for the principle of it, but he really wouldn't mind. There was never going to be time to date in his schedule; it would simply have to be found. "Good-bye, Rose. I'll see you later."

He closed his phone and his amusement faded. What was wrong? Alice Cullen had just gotten engaged; he didn't think it was her. That left Leah or Emily. Leah was always getting into trouble with that curiosity of hers, but if he had to place a bet he would guess it was Emily. She had been unusually quiet during the Fourth of July family gathering only days before.

Edward had no choice but to set aside the problem for the moment. He joined his partner Sam. "Are we ready?"

"I think so." Sam looked like he hadn't slept in the last couple days, but then he normally looked that way so it was hard to tell. Sam had general hotel security: 37 floors, 1,012 rooms, and 50 meeting rooms to cover – it was like trying to plug a leaking dam with cotton balls. Unlike a federal court building where they could screen who entered or left the building, what thy carried, this hotel was wide open to the public.

"I got the hotel to agree to close delivery access to the kitchens for the evening; it freed up another three men for ballroom security," Sam noted. "And I moved Deputy Ellis to Judge Blake. Ellis has covered the Fourth Circuit in the past, maybe he'll be able to talk the judge into following basic security guidelines."

"Thanks. Nelson was showing the strain."

"I can't blame him. Blake is by far the most difficult of the judges on the president's short list." Sam closed the folder of assignments and tossed it on the cluttered desk. Neatness had disappeared under the churn of numerous problems. "Do you think any of them have a chance of getting the nomination?"

To the U.S. Marshals, who knew the judicial personnel across the country better than the president who appointed them and the congress who confirmed them, Supreme Court nominations were a race they handicapped with the skill of veteran court watchers.

Edward considered the list for a moment, and then shook his head. "No." The names on the list so far were good judges, but not the great ones. They were the political appeasement candidates, on the list until the scrutiny of the press gave the president something he could use as cover for not nominating them. The real candidates would be in the next set of names that surfaced.

Edward adjusted his jacket around the shoulder holster, checked the microphone at his cuff, then did a communication check on the security net. He tried to get himself mentally prepared for the long coming evening covering the justice. "I swear Deputy Nicholas Drake ate bad sushi for lunch on purpose. Tell me again how I got elected for his honor rather than you?" he asked while he scanned the room, reviewing where they were at with a check of the status boards. As usual, they were having a conversation but their attention was on anything but each other.

"You're better looking."

Edward grunted. "Sure. That's why I get asked for _your_ phone number." His partner Sam Uley attracted attention without trying. The man looked like he had just stepped off his Montana ranch. There was something untamed about him and women seemed to know it. His face was weathered by the sun and wind, he could see to the horizon, and his gaze made suspects fidget. He called women ma'am and wore cowboy boots whenever he could get away with it. Edward enjoyed having him as a partner; his life was never dull. They had tracked fugitives together, protected witnesses, and kept each other alive. Sam didn't flinch when the pressure hit.

"Actually, Edward- I'm afraid I kind of blew it the other night," Sam admitted.

Surprised at the sheepish tone of voice, Edward glanced over at him. "How?"

"Leah." Sam reached into his jacket pocket and took out a folded cloth. He flipped back the folded velvet to show a sealed petri dish. "She sent me a petrified squid."

It was so like his sister Leah, Edward had to laugh. "Sounds like a no to me," he remarked dryly. Was this what Rosalie had stumbled into? A tiff between Sam and Leah? It didn't fit Rose's reaction, but it was certainly an interesting development.

"Where did she get this thing?"

"A forensic pathologist- I imagine that was one of the more tame replies she considered sending you."

"All I did was ask her out."

"Sam, it is painfully obvious that you did not have sisters." Edward took a moment to explain reality. "Two years ago you asked out Alice- she's now engaged. Last year you asked out Rosalie- she's now serious with an FBI agent. This year you asked out Leah. You just told her she's your third choice. Emily might forgive you; Leah will never let you forget it."

"Can I help it if you've got an interesting family?"

Even a friend like Sam wasn't going to be allowed to hurt his sister. "Flowers will not do; you'd better get creative with the apology."

"I'm still going to get her to say yes."

"I wish you luck; you're going to need it." Sam would be food for Leah. He was one of the few men Edward thought would understand her and the trouble she got into because of her curiosity. Edward was beginning to feel like a bit of a matchmaker having just subtly pushed Rosalie and Emmett together less than a month ago. "Tell you what. I need to free some time late tonight to meet with Rosalie. Swap the time with me and I'll talk to Leah for you."

"And tell her what?"

"Only your good points."

"Why don't I believe you?"

Edward grinned. "I've already told her the bad."

The security net gave the five-minute warning to the start of the evening program. Judge Carl Whitmore would speak first, and then it would be his Honor Justice Roosevelt. Edward would be glad when the evening was over. "Come on, Sam, we need to talk to Emmett about press access to Justice Roosevelt after the keynote speech."

"Please- give me a crowd control; anything but his Honor. I love the man, but he likes nothing better than to rile the media for the fun of it."

"He's appointed for life; his life is boring without controversy."

"You mean he's too old to care if someone decides they want to kill him."

"Exactly."

"You're going to owe me for this one. The last time his Honor held one of these media question and answer sessions, I had to expel a heckler and I ended up all over the evening news."

* * *

The Jefferson Hotel served chicken kiev, rice pilaf, and steamed asparagus for the main course at the banquet. Judge Carl Whitmore was too nervous to eat. He politely ate a few bites and moved food around on his plate before finally pushing his plate aside.

Soon after the dinner plates were cleared away, the man beside him rose, moved to the podium, and gave a warm welcome to the guests. He began an introduction that Carl knew would take at most two minutes to give. Carl reached for the folder he had forced himself not to open during dinner.

The introduction finished.

Carl took a deep breath and roes to his feet. He shook hands with the man who had introduced him. Polite applause filled the room.

He slipped off his watch and set it down on the edge of the podium, removed the pages of his speech from the folder and arranged them neatly to the left of center on the podium, and then took a final moment to slip on his reading glasses.

Bella had written a note at the top of the first page with a bright pink felt tip pen – _Remember to smile_ – and she had dotted the i with a small heart. That fact, as much as her note, made Carl smile as he lifted his head, faced the bright lights, and smoothly began his prepared remarks to the twelve hundred guests in attendance.

Bless her heart. What would he ever do without her?

Carl had been given such loyal friends. He had gone to law school with her father. Bella, her brother Joshua, and her parents Charlie and Renee, had flown out from Washington to be here for his speech. The hour of his greatest disappointment was also the hour he learned how rich his life really was.

The president's short list of judges had become known Tuesday, and his name had not been on the list. There had only been early rumors that he was being considered, and those rumors had taken on substance when the FBI quietly began checking his background. Carl had begun to let himself hope. He was a bachelor, his life was the law, and to serve on the Supreme Court was his lifelong dream. His disappointment was intense. But in the audience were four people who understood, who shared his disappointment, and were determined to lift his spirits. He had been blessed in his friends. He had the important thinks in life.

He began the speech he had waited his lifetime to give- a perspective of conservative thought in judicial law.

* * *

The lights had partially dimmed as the speech began. Bella Swan was grateful, for it helped hide the fact she had started to twirl her fork, reflecting her nervous energy.

Even though she had not written this speech, she had worked on minor refinements and knew it work for word. Fifteen years in politics, the last ten of them as a speechwriter, and she still couldn't get through listening to a speech without holding her breath. She knew how important this was to Carl. If something she had suggested didn't work…

She gave up trying to hide the obvious and reached for a roll left in the basket on the table and tore it in two. Maybe it would settle her stomach. She regretted eating the chicken kiev; she should have been smart like Carl and waited to order room service later

She would much rather be the one giving the speech. When she was at the podium, adjusting the presentation: the inflections, the timing, the emphasis necessary to persuade people to her point of view.

Her brother Joshua looked over at her and gave her a sympathetic smile. Normally he would be kidding her about her nerves, but not tonight.

Carl began page two of his prepared text. His presentation had been flawless so far. Bella rested her elbow on the table, her chin against the knuckles of her right hand, and ate the bread as she watched him, feeling his passion for the law come through in his woods. She didn't understand why he was not on the Supreme Court short list. Someone at the Justice Department had really fumbled the ball in not recommending him.

Her pager vibrated. Bella jerked, and her water glass rocked. It was her emergency pager; she had left her general pager upstairs. Her heart pounding, she pulled it from her pocket. Her job demanded the two pagers; prioritizing people clamoring for her attention was a necessary part of her life.

Only the VIPs in her life had this number, and most of them were sitting at the table with her. She read the return number. It was John Palmer, the governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia. Her boss and longtime friend, he was not one to page unless it was urgent. And for him to call, knowing Carls' speech was tonight-

She rubbed her thumb across the pager numbers, feeling torn, then reluctantly acknowledged she couldn't ignore it for twenty minutes. She reached for her handbag and retrieved her cell phone. "I'll be back in a minute," she whispered to her mom, slipping away to call John back. Her movement attracted notice from the tables nearby and she cringed, hoping Carl hadn't noticed. The last thing she wanted to do was interrupt his speech.

Opening the side door, she slipped out of the ballroom. To her surprise she found herself in what appeared to be a back hallway- across from her was an open door to a utility room. The hallway was empty, narrow, even somewhat dark. She had obviously come out the wrong door. Bella hesitated, then shrugged off her mistake, glad not to have to worry about the press being around. She dialed John's number.

She had worked for him for over ten years. She added elegance to his communications, his message. She was working long hours as his deputy communications director to get him reelected. What was wrong?

Bella paced the hall toward the windows as she waited for the phone to be answered, then paused and closed her eyes as fatigue washed over her. The Fourth of July campaigning had been four days of nonstop travel, crisscrossing Virginia. She had been home a day to pack and then she had met her parents and brother to fly out here to Chicago for the three-day conference. It was supposed to be a rest break for her, but it wasn't happening. Her body clock was off, leaving her wide-awake at 2 AM and fighting sleep at noon. She struggled to suppress her fatigue so it wouldn't show in her voice.

Her pager went off again. She scowled. There was apparently a crisis breaking in Virginia and she was halfway across the country in Chicago. She had known getting away in the middle of an election was a bad idea.

Normally she thrived on diving into the problems and being in the center of the storm. Joshua called it her hurricane mode: dealing with incomplete information, immediate deadlines, impending catastrophes- she found being in the center of the action a calm place to be when she was the one controlling the response. That wasn't the case tonight, she was too far away. She lifted the pager to look at the number and see who else was demanding her attention.

It was like getting physically battered.

Mike. He hadn't called her directly in almost five months, not since she'd slammed the phone down on him last time. She rarely lost it so eloquently, and she had done it in style that evening.

Mike Newton. The man she had let get deep into her soul and curl around her heart; he was like a black mark she couldn't erase. She had loved him so passionately and today just the sight of his number was enough to bring back a flood of emotions to paralyze her. It had not been a gentle breakup between them, for dreams had imploded and expectations had been crushed. It had been intense, painful, and a year later it still haunted her.

Mike was another prayer God had not answered.

She wanted to swear, did slap her hand against the wall and pace away from the windows. She was trying to solve her growing dilemma about prayer while stuck on a phone walking the halls of a hotel in Chicago.

She hated not having her prayers answered.

She looked again at the pager. Mike had the ability to be cordial, even friendly when they spoke, and the best she could do was chilly politeness as the embarrassment of what could have been washed over her and the sound of his voice brought back all her hopes. She chose to ignore his page even as she wondered why he would feel the need to call.

The phone was finally answered. "Sorry about the delay Bella. Thanks for calling back so quickly."

She briefly wondered how John had functioned before caller ID. "Not a problem. What's happening?"

"How would you like Christmas about six months early?"

She could hear the smile in his voice. "What?"

"Carl is going to make the short list. Your brief helped, Bella."

Her heart stopped momentarily. "You're serious." She had labored over that brief presenting Carl's qualifications for the court; she knew Carl's past cases better than his own law clerks; she knew the man. It was the best position paper of her life. John had passed it through to Washington – one voice in a sea of voices.

"I just got off the phone with the attorney general. They're recommending Carl to the president. The attorney general expects a positive decision to happen tonight."  
She closed her eyes, "John you couldn't have given me better news."

"Keep him near the phone tonight?"

"Of course! I'll make sure we're prepared to celebrate when the call comes." She rubbed her forehead, gave a soft laugh. "Talk about a reason for an ulcer- Carl makes the list and then we wait some more. The president makes his choice in ten days."

"At least you'll be pacing for a good reason."

It was a running joke between them, her habit of pacing when she thought, talked, waited. "Any other major issues?"

"Nothing that won't wait another day."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow then." She closed the phone after saying thanks once again.

Carl was going to make the short list. Her high heels sank into the carpet as she spun around, feeling like she would burst keeping such a secret for even a couple hours. She had to at least tell her brother Josh. They could order a special room service dinner for Carl- lobster maybe. After the call came, they could invite a few of his friends to join them.

Carl might actually be sitting on the Supreme Court when it opens its next session. The image of that was incredible.

She pulled open the side door to the ballroom so she could slip back inside.

"Oh. I'm sorry!" Bella pulled up at the sight of men in suits carrying guns. They turned, the three nearest her, blocking her line of sight into the rest of the room. This was definitely not the ballroom.

None of the doors in the back corridor were marked. She had obviously gotten turned around as she paced and talked on the phone. She had walked in on men carrying guns. Her heart rate escalated, about the same instant the three men near her actually relaxed. Their assessment had been swift.

The man on the right removed his hand from inside his jacket. She wanted to give a nervous laugh as she realized he had instinctively put his hand on his gun. This was clearly not turning out to be her night. She had been introduced to foreign dignitaries and hosted senators for dinner and never fumbled as much as she had in this one evening.

"No problem," the man nearest her said as he smiled, disarming her panic with a charm that made her blink. His entire demeanor softened with that smile. Tall, edging over six feet, the seams of the tuxedo strained by muscles, a gaze that pierced. He would have been a threatening figure without that smile, but it changed everything. It was like getting hit with a warm punch when his attention focused on her.

She had come in the side door of what was obviously a security control center, and now stood behind two long tables where cables and power cords from PCs and faxes snaked down to the floor. The room was actually quite busy, at least twenty people present; most had paused what they were doing at her entrance and quiet had washed over the room.

"That door should have been locked; it wasn't entirely you're mistake," the man commented, stepping around the tables and over the wires to join her. His black jacket hung open, his shoulder holster visible. She instinctively knew he was one of the men in charge. There was a confident directness to his look and words. His hand settled under her elbow and without being obtrusive about it, steered her back out of the room. She felt the power in that grip checked to be light. "You came two doors beyond the ballroom."

She was acutely embarrassed, but he was being nice about it. "I've always been directionally challenged. I didn't mean to go somewhere where I didn't belong."

"No harm done."

She had never been able to shake that one fatal flaw in her makeup- her inability to keep her sense of bearings (or balance)- and it was her own fault. Frankly, she didn't pay enough attention until it was too late to correct the mistake.

Every year she made the solemn New Year's resolution to try harder, and ever year she managed to forget that promise and get herself back into situations like this with painful regularity. And to do it in front of three good looking guys…there were times she really did want to be able to shrink into the woodwork.

She took a deep breath and let it go; the damage was done and it was time to recover as best she could. The realization touched her smile with humor. "I'm Bella, by the way."

"Bella Swan. Yes, I know." He firmly closed the door behind him, then released her elbow and offered his hand. "Edward Cullen."

She blinked at the fact he knew her name, then realized a man in his position probably knew most everything; a fanciful notion but not one she would bet against. She had attended too many judicial events where men like him melted into the background not to have a healthy respect for what he did. Not that Edward would ever melt into the background of anything- he'd be the one attracting the attention.

Up close, the reality of his presence was overwhelming, absorbing her sense. Weight lifter, runner, something…he was an athlete and it showed in his build. She looked because she couldn't help herself. Her gaze finally met his and she blushed slightly at the confident directness and quite amusement she saw in his eyes.

"Edward. Nice to meet you." His hand was strong and callused, and when it closed around hers she felt the clasp of warmth through her fingers, palm, and fine bones of her wrist. She wanted to believe it was her imagination that had her hand trapped in his for a beat too long, but then he smiled, still holding her hand, and she realized it was not her imagination. She wanted to blush again but found herself holding his gaze instead.

It had been a long time since someone not associated with work looked at her with that kind of frank appreciation. It did wonders for her sense of morale. She didn't have to worry that he was going to be hitting her in the next moment with a request for a quote from her boss. She knew she looked her best. She had pulled her hair up, chosen gold jewelry, and defined her eyelashes around her brown eyes. In her new white linen suit she looked not only professional but elegant. It was nice to have that fact noticed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bella." He released her hand. "I've got a minute, I'll see you safely back to table six."

"Oh, that's how you knew my name," she remarked and instantly wanted to kick herself. That was a really elegant comment. What would she think of next? The weather? She wanted to impress him not leave a bigger impression of a scatterbrain.

His smile deepened. "Yes." He nodded to the phone and pager in her hand. "You got a page?"

"Yes. And I tend to pace as I talk, hence the total confusion when I finished the call."

"Was it at least good news?"

"Very."

"From that smile, I would think so."

"Are you always this direct?" she asked, both amused and charmed.

"When I'm killing time with a pretty lady."

She would have preferred beautiful, but she could live with pretty.

What he had said registered. Someone was running a security check. She had wondered; they were ten feet from the door to the ballroom and they were standing still. _Josh, I managed to make a U.S. Marshal's security breach logbook_. It was going to be hard to live this one down.

Edward had to be swamped tonight, and this was taking time from more important duties, but he was not making her feel stupid. The opposite actually. She deeply appreciated his ability to be kind. She grinned. "Should I tell you all my secrets now, or do we wait for someone to find my file and tell you all of them?"

His brown eyes deepened and warmed to gold. "Security precautions are part of a conference like this; it will only take a minute. But if you have some interesting ones….?"  
"None that I'm willing to share unilaterally."

There was a beat in time and then he laughed, a delightful sound, warm and rich. "Well said."  
She wished she met guys like this more often; politicians rarely had a good sense of humor. She leaned against the wall, letting her shoulder absorb her weight and take the strain off her sore right ankle that she had wrenched earlier in the day playing tennis with Joshua. Edward looked comfortable in that tuxedo and at home with the authority he wore like a second skin.

"Have you been enjoying the conference?"

She risked showing her interest. "Yes, but it just got much nicer."

His slow grin…she wished she could bottle the warmth it gave so she could enjoy it again later. "I see I'm not the only one who knows how to be direct."

"I have a feeling I'm about out of time. They'll have me cleared soon," she replied easily while her heart thumped a patter she hadn't heard in a year. The guy didn't have a ring on, he was breathtakingly handsome, he could turn her to mush with his smile, and he didn't have a thing to do with politics. She was feeling unusually courageous. Tonight had already been such a roller coaster of emotions that she figured one more would fit right in.

"Why do you dot your i's with a heart?"

She blinked. "How did you know that?"

"They actually cleared you a few moments ago. Among other things, you signed for the table six tickets."

"Edward."

He didn't look the slightest bit apologetic. "Saying good-bye wasn't at the top of my priorities. Listen, would you be interested in joining me for coffee tomorrow morning? I'm already having a late dinner with my sister tonight."

She didn't know quite what to say. Yes, she did; she just didn't know how to say it. She took a breath and let herself drop into the unknown. "I would love to join you for coffee."

Any question of whether that was a good move or not disappeared when she saw his expression. Knowing she had put that look of satisfaction on his face…it felt good. Very good.

"I'll call you." He gestured toward the ballroom. "Let me see you back."

Bella walked with him, bemused by the turns this evening was bringing.

They had almost reached the correct door when it opened and her brother stepped out. Bella paused, surprised, and Edward actually drew her back a step behind him. She got the feeling he automatically assumed a threat and quietly put her hand on his forearm, felt his muscles flex under her hand, as she stepped forward and passed him to meet her brother. "Hi, Josh. Did you think I got lost?"

"You have been known in the past," Josh agreed easily, putting his arms around her shoulders. "Just making sure the page wasn't bad news."

"Some of it was very good." She reached up and comfortably grasped her brother's wrist with her hand. He was assessing the man with her and not being too subtle about the fact. "Joshua, this is Edward. Edward, my brother."

His right arm around her shoulders, Josh didn't try to shake hands, he simply nodded politely. "Nice to meet you." The two men looked at each other for a moment, then Josh glanced back at her. "We'd better get back. Carl is just wrapping up his speech."

"Carl!" She had totally forgotten him for a moment. "How's he doing?"

Joshua laughed. "Excellent."

Edward apparently heard something over his earpiece; his expression became distant as he lifted his hand and replied into the small microphone at his cuff, saying something too soft for her to hear. When he glanced back at her, his gaze was still warm, but it was obvious his attention had been diverted. "It was nice to meet you, Bella. Please excuse me?"

She nodded and watched him walk purposely away, back the way they had come.

"Security?" Josh asked.

She nodded and didn't bother to explain how they had met or about the invitation to coffee. "Let's catch the end of Carl's speech. I've got some great news to tell you!"

* * *

"Pretty lady," Emmett commented, his accent conveying an extra weight to his choice of the word lady.

Edward glanced at his friend as they crossed to the elevator that was reserved for security use this evening. "It took you long enough to confirm it was an honest mistake."

"I noticed you weren't complaining."

Emmett was probing and Edward knew it; he just smiled and ignored the comment. The family grapevine would love to hear news that he had met someone he liked. He didn't intend to feed it even unintentionally

They wanted him to be happy, and every couple years his social life became a hot topic behind his back on the family grapevine. It would settle down when someone else in the family became more interesting.

Family. He had to love them. Emmett was fitting right in.

Bella fit what he was looking for at the moment. She was someone he could relax with for a few minutes in the midst of a pressure-filled weekend. He had learned to seize those unexpected moments in life.

Over the security net came word Justice Roosevelt was ready to come down. Separating the conversation he was having with the security net conversation he was monitoring was habit after all these years. Edward completed a sentence with Emmett and made a request on the security net with barely a pause in between. He got back confirmation from the three agents securing the area into the ballroom that they were ready. Satisfied with his own inspection of the areas, he gave the go-ahead. "Send his Honor down."

Emmett watched the elevator numbers start down from the nineteenth floor. "Going to find an excuse to meet her again?"  
There were some signs that couldn't be kept a secret in this right knit security community and in this instance Edward didn't even try. "We're having coffee in the morning."

"Can I tell that to Rosalie?"

If Emmett mentioned it tonight, Rosalie would likely find an excuse to drop by the hotel in the morning. "Save it for when you need to dig yourself out of the doghouse for something," Edward replied, drawing a laugh from his friend.

* * *

Jacob Black sat at table twenty-two and twirled his fork as he listened to Judge Whitmore's speech. He listened and his hate grew; his target was now in sight.

His older brother was dead because of this judge. For twelve years the death penalty appeals had wound through the system and no one had stopped the sentence given by this man. It had been carried out.

Now he would return the favor.

He had thought about it, as he had promised his brother he would do. He had thought about it for nine months. He had almost decided to let it go, until rumors of the Supreme Court nomination had surfaced.

Jacob had gotten hold of a copy of the brief floating around. It was good. Very good. It laid the road map for a senate confirmation of Judge Whitmore. The president was known to be heavily weighing that reality as he made his decision; it wasn't going to be easy to get a conservative justice confirmed. The brief tipped the ultimate decision strongly in favor of Judge Whitmore. There was no way Jacob would allow this judge to sit on the Supreme Court.

He could get away with the murder. He knew what it would take to convict him, and they wouldn't have it. He had planned with a logic his brother would be proud of. The mistakes others made had been eliminated. Witnesses. Evidence. He knew what it would take to create reasonable doubt. He had more than just alibis in place.

And he knew the value of the character card at trial. He had been forced to become the good son, to pay for the sins of his brother. As a result he was a man who didn't even have so much as a parking ticket to his name. He could claim the best schools; he had a Rolodex of the right friends, a distinguished career.

He was being forced to act sooner than he had planned. Judge Whitmore wasn't on the president's short list yet, but Justice Department sources said the judge's name would be added soon. Once he was on that list, reaching past security to get to him would be impossible.

As it turned out, even that change in timing had worked out to his benefit. He was here, within sight of his target, and no one suspected what he had planned.

Jacob excused himself as Judge Whitmore's speech concluded.


	3. Two

Two

Bella was safely back at table six. Edward saw her seated there as he scanned the room. He had stood behind Justice Roosevelt: listening, watching, attuned to an movement in the crowd, staying relaxed, ready to react. An older couple, a second look confirmed they were her parents, sat to Bella's left. Joshua sat to her right. A nice guy, her brother; young but protective. Not many men would have made that direct a silent challenge to him.

As an older brother himself, he had accepted the silent challenge with more amusement than personal irritation. Bella was frankly too open with strangers; she needed a Joshua in her life watching out for her.

He was going to enjoy having coffee with her. He liked her willingness to admit with self-directed humor to being directionally challenged and clumsy; he liked the confidence in her gaze when she met his. She carried herself with the ease of someone comfortable with who she was. He smiled just thinking about her comeback regarding sharing secrets unilaterally. Someone who could laugh at herself was rare and very appealing.

She was pretty; not classically beautiful, but pretty. When she'd walked into the Belmont room my mistake he'd captured details out of habit: brunette, chocolate eyes, five-feet-three, slender, midthirties; a small, white scare on the left corner of her top lip; teeth so straight she had probably worn braces as a child. A few minutes with her and she had his full attention. She reminded him of his sister Alice, someone who vibrated with life.

It was such a subtle sign, Bella reaching up to grasp her brother's wrist, but it shouted. In her world, family was close, special, and trusted. She had been given that gift by luck of birth; he had found it with the Cullens. They'd share at leas tone thing in common: love of family.

He wished he had bumped into her under different circumstances. This was bad timing. It wasn't like either of them lied in Chicago, it wasn't like he would get a chance to see her after this weekend if he wanted to follow up coffee with a more substantive invitation to diner. Unless…the back of Bella's photograph had given her name, listed her residence as Virginia.

He traveled constantly with work, was based out of Washington, but his apartment was in Arlington, Virginia, just across the Potomac river, north of Arlington National Cemetery. When he was in town, he took advantage of the hiking trails maintained on Roosevelt Island for his morning run. If Bella were interested, if she lived somewhere in his area of Virginia, maybe he wouldn't have to meet her once and then say good-bye…

"Movement on the right, yellow zone, subject unidentified."

Edward turned his attention toward the threat without appearing to move. If someone unidentified broke the red zone, ten tables from the speaker's table, they would be forcibly stopped. The waiters were not all waiters.

* * *

Nothing had happened; it was the best kind of evening. Edward stretched a cramp out of his right shoulders and rubbed his forearm. Ever since the Cullen baseball game on the Fourth of July when he'd backhanded a throw to catch Emmett out at first base, the muscles had been acting up. He smiled remembering Rosalie's outrage when Emmett had been called out. A sore arm was worth it.

Chairs fell with a clatter. Edward turned to see two workers move to pick them up. The hotel crews were beginning to take down the decorations in the ballroom, rearrange the tables. In seven hours this room had to be reconfigured for a breakfast meeting for six hundred.

"Edward, we've got a problem."

His partner Sam was striding across the room toward him. "The evening was going so well. Justice Roosevelt?"

"Thank goodness, no. He's safely tucked back in his suite of the secure floor. Washington just called. The president added Justice Whitmore to his short list."

Edward raised one eyebrow. "The president added him at this time of night?" He shook his head in answer to his own question. The decision had likely been made some time ago and they were only now hearing about it. His frustration showed in his scowl. "When are they going to realize they need to warn us first, before they take names to the president for consideration?"

"Exactly. Be glad they didn't leak the name during his speech."

"Is there a room free on the secure floor?"

"The East Suite."

Edward glanced at his watch. Rosalie would be here soon. "Let's go find the judge and get him moved to the nineteenth floor. Did you pull his threat file?"

"It's being faxed over now. Apparently it's pretty clean."

"That will change as his name leaks out." They left the ballroom and moved through the lobby, skirting past guests to the private corridor. "Do we have a deputy we can assign?"

"I was thinking about Chuck Nance," Sam replied. "He's covering the live television interviews in the Ontario Room; he'll be free within the hour."

"He's good; okay, get him assigned. How else is it going?"

"Besides a fender benter, a paparazzi trying to get a photo of Judge Frenston kissing the wife of Judge Burkhaven, and the hotel running out of imported caviar? It's just wonderful. You should have this job."

"Burkhaven's wife?"

"Don't worry. I was tactful when I suggested they might want to find some privacy."

"I wish I had been a fly on the wall."

"This keeps up, I'm going to ask for a reassignment. I hired on to chase bad guys, not to be a diplomat."

"But you're so good at it," Edward protested, chuckling at Sam's scowl. Edward saw Emmett ahead of them, just stepping into an elevator. "Emmett, hold the elevator."

Emmett caught the door so they could join them. "What's up?"

"We've got a judge to move to the secure floor. Can you give us a hand?"

"Sure. Who?

"Whitmore. Room 961," Sam replied.

Emmett pushed the button for the ninth floor of the hotel.

* * *

"Bella, you're pacing again." Joshua, stretched out on the couch, waved her out of his way so he could flip through the television channels looking for the late news.

"The phone is never going to ring."

"Would you quit worrying? The call will come. Carl is not even back yet. He was still talking to the conference host when we left to come up."  
Bella knew he was right, but still…She walked over to the desk where she had temporarily set up shop for these three days, looking for something to do to keep herself occupied. Patience was a virtue she would one day have to work on. "How long before dinner arrives?" They had settled on ordering Italian, Carls' favorite.

"Fifteen, twenty minutes."

She rummaged to find a pen and pad of paper, deciding she might a well do some work. She was working on a major school reform speech. The same day the speech was given, a detailed position paper would be released. Getting the two to meld together with clarity was a challenge.

The suite she was sharing with her parents was like man hotel rooms she had stayed in over the years, and as usual her things had sprawled. Abandoning the desk since it did not have room for her, she settled in one of the plush wingback chairs, and set her glass of iced tea on the side table.

She had always found it easy to get lost in her work, but tonight it was a struggle. When she realized she'd scrawled the name Edward in the margin of her note page, she forced herself to turn the page. Edward was tomorrow morning's distraction, and if it was one thing she prided herself on, it was keeping her focus.

Not that she had heard a word of Supreme Court Justice Roosevelt's speech tonight, not with Edward standing behind him on the stage. She was almost certain Edward had looked her way more than necessary during the evening. She would like to imagine he had really winked at her, but she wasn't quite certain enough to risk asking him in the morning. Edward got better looking the longer she had looked, and she's sat there bemused for over an hour.

A cop. She was interested in a cop. She gave a silent chuckle. Given her profession, it was probably as good a choice as any. She'd love to have him at her side when the mud started to fly at one on the numerous social gatherings she attended as part of her job. She had a feeling politicians would temper their words around him.

Anne was going to enjoy hearing this news. John's deputy chief of staff, her longtime friend, had been encouraging her to get over Mike for months. Of course, it wasn't exactly going to be easy to find the right words…_Anne, I bumped into this guy with a gun_. She grinned. Yeah. That would work.

She glanced up when the sound of footsteps came her direction. Her dad had changed from his suit.

"Working on John's speech?"

Dad knew her well. "Trying to." He had read his first draft yesterday.

"You've got a challenge making the intricacies of bond refinancing clear."

"Tell me about it. I just keep reminding listeners it's money. Either pay now or pay more later. That always catches attention." A knock on the door interrupted them. Joshua got up to answer it. Room service had arrived with dinner. Bella set aside the work to help Josh clear the table so they could set it out.

"Is Carl back?" her dad asked.

Bella heard something from next door. "There he is now, right on time."

She walked across the suite to the connecting door with the adjoining hotel room, carrying one of the hot cheese-filled breadsticks Josh had ordered for an appetizer. The good news hadn't come yet, but his feast couldn't wait. She tapped on the door. "Carl, dinner's here." The connecting door had never been latched and it swung open under her hand. "Josh thinks your speech---"  
The muted sound of a silenced gunshot echoed through Carl's room. Horror swelled inside Bella like a wave as she saw Carl crumble backwards to the floor, his face turning toward her. His eyes showed unspeakable fear, surprise, then a blank nothing. The breadstick dropped from her hand. The shooter stood to her left, less than six feet away. She had surprised him; that fact registered in the brief instant when she simply stood there.

He wore a dark suit, tailored, with a burgundy red tie, a white herringbone shirt, and black shoes polished to a high shine. His face showed angry determination, and his gray eyes as he turned to look at her were filled with intense hatred.

She tried to scream and when it came, it ripped from the back of her throat.

He was already firing as he swung toward her; the first bullet kicked up wood from the door frame inches from her face. Her hand flew up at the sharp sting.

Joshua hit her; it was a full tackle with no finesse, catching her low intehr bis and knocing her out of the doorway. She slammed into the side table, and the lamp crashed down with her as she tumbled over the couch. Her forearm hit hard wood, her right knee twisted, and her chin cracked against the floor, sending shooting pain through her face.

The shots went on and on, emptying into the room, and then it went deathly quiet. Bella could hear nothing but the pounding of her heartbeat. She lifted her head slowly from the carpet abrading her cheek, heard a door slam somewhere in the background, and turned her head, quivering.

"Josh!" He lay partially over her lower legs, crumpled to the floor with his arms outstretched. He wasn't moving. She tried to slip free without her high heels hitting his face.

As soon as she was clear, she turned and scrambled back toward him on her hands and knees, seeing a spreading pool of blood staining his white shirt around his right shoulder and his upper back. The sight terrified her. All her life she had watched him be the adventurous one, the athlete, and now he lay crumbled with his eyes closed as if all the strings had been cut. She turned him awkwardly so he wasn't lying on the wound.

She heard her mother moan and looked around, then froze as she watched her mom try to lift the limp body of her father into her arms. A streak of blood along the wall showed where her father had been flung back by the bullet's impact; he had crumpled there. He couldn't be dead. No! He couldn't be dead.

It registered and yet it didn't; disbelief was overriding what her eyes were telling her. Someone had killed Carl; tried to kill her; and shot her brother and her father.

It hit so hard she couldn't breath. Couldn't think. Words weren't connecting.

Joshua's eye flickered open: blue, dilated. Almost immediately they began to glaze over. He made no sound, but his eyes…

Her thoughts cleared. Her mind sharpened. The moment crystallized. An icy calmness settled across her.

"Mom, lay Dad flat. Get pressure on the bleeding," she said, hoping it wasn't too late for him.

She pressed her hands tight against Josh's shoulder, feeling them grow slick with his blood. "Hold on, Josh. Just hold on." She could see her hands shaking but couldn't feel it. "You're going to be alright."

He struggled to breathe. It was a frightening sound.

The table was on its side and she yanked the fallen phone toward her by the cord. She had to hang up the receiver to get a dial tone back. She hit zero, leaving a blood fingerprint.

"There's been a shooting in suite 963. We need medical help." She was stunned at how clear her voice was. She was so tense her muscles were going to break bones, but her voice was calm. Joshua and her dad couldn't afford it if she panicked.

"Ma'am---"

"My name is Bella Swan. Someone just shot Judge Whitmore. My brother and dad were also hit. I need help, now! Suite 963," she repeated.

"It's on the way." She rattled the reception desk attendant. "Stay on the line---"

Bella dropped the phone to the carpet, not hanging up, but needing both hands for Joshua. "Mom, how's Dad?" She swiveled around on her heels and saw her mom's face. If she wasn't already having a second heart attack, she was on the verge of o ne. Her mom was one of the strongest ladies Bella knew, but not in her health. A heart infection after surgery ten years ago had made her vulnerable, and a mild heart attack two years ago had worsened that outlook. A shock like this could kill her. "Mom, where are your pills?" Bella asked urgently.

"I'm okay for now. Stay with Josh."

Bella looked at Josh, then back at her mom, a sense of panic taking hold. Help wasn't going to arrive in time.

* * *

"Shots fired! Suite 963. Repeat, shots fired, suite 963!"

Edward, Sam, and Emmett flattened against the side walls of the elevator, realizing with a startled and then grim glance between themselves that the elevator doors were opening on floor nine at that very instant. Edward hit the emergency stop button, relieved they had silenced the alarms during the security preparations. Guns drawn, they moved out of the confined space, covering for each other.

The elevator opened into a small alcove. A gold plaque on the facing corridor wall showed rooms 930 to 949 and stairs to the left, rooms 950 and 969 and vending to the right.

A glance up showed none of the guest elevators were moving. The shooter hadn't gone out this way. "Freeze the southwest elevators," Edward quietly ordered the control center. "Three officers now on the floor."

Emmett slipped a small four-inch mirror from his pocket and used it to check both directions of the corridor. "Empty."

The only sound was the faint one of the ice machine down the hall. It didn't mean much. Edward knew these hotel rooms were nearly sound proof, having more than once opened the door to his suite to find that Sam had the television blaring so he could listen to the news as he shaved.

Edward touched Sam's shoulder and pointed left toward the stirs.

Sam nodded and moved that direction.

Edward tapped Emmett to help him investigate suite 963.

The vending area at the end of the hall worried him and he kept his attention on that danger point as they moved down the hall. A guest room door opened and they both pivoted, guns aimed, only to immediately check their movements. Emmett waved the horrified guest back inside his room.

Edward reached the closed door to suite 963, stopped, and Emmett slid past him to the other side. Emmett removed his master hotel card key and quietly tapped his knee, indicated he would go in low. Edward nodded.

Emmett silently inserted the card key; then pulled it out. The red light flashed green.

Edward met Emmett's gaze and in that intense moment knew Emmett was thinking the same thing he was. Rosalie would kill them both if either one of them got hurt.

Emmett pushed open the door.

It caught on the chain.

Edward, his momentum already taking him forward, barely checked in time to avoid hitting the door. They had the right suite number. A false alarm? No. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air and it was impossible to miss the smell of blood. Someone had slipped the chain in place out of fear? _Or had the shooter barricaded himself inside?_ "Police! Open up!"

Emmett prepared to kick the door open. Over the security net Edward could hear the coordinated response of U.S. Marshals, FBI agents, and uniform cops rushing to close the area. Backup was coming, but they didn't have time to wait.

The door chain jangled as someone tried to open the door.

The door swung open. Emmett and Edward instantly elevated their weapons to the ceiling. It was a lady in her fifties. Her identity registered at first with disbelief. It was Bella's mom, Renee Swan. Edward reached out and caught her elbow to keep her from falling. Her face had a distinct pale grayness, and there was blood on her dress.

"I've got her." Emmett wrapped his arms around her waist to lower her to the floor. Edward heard the grimness in Emmet's voice, the shared impact this was having on him. They had been talking about his family only a few moments ago.

A scan of the room showed carnage. Bella's father had been shot. Joshua had been shot. Bella turned from where she was kneeling beside Josh, desperation coupled with intense relief in her eyes.

Edward hated the fact he had no choice but to ignore her. First he had to know the rooms were secure. Emmett was moving to the left, checking the suite bedrooms. Edward moved to the right and through the open connecting odor.

He drew a deep breath. Judge Carl Whitmore lay on his back, the empty look in his eyes confirming the worst. Edward had never lost a witness or a judge on his watch and fury washed over him.

He forced himself to take a deep breath before he walked past the judge to check the bathroom, anywhere someone could hide. When he was sure he was alone, he knelt to confirm the judge was dead, careful where he stopped so as to minimize what he disturbed of the crime scene. "Judge Whitmore has been killed." His words over the security net quiet and cold.

Judge Whitmore had died facing into his room. Someone had been inside the room. Waiting. Edward hadn't known the judge and the Swans were friends, but the open connecting door suggested they were. The lock had to released on both side. Were the Swans just unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time, or were they targets as well and the hit had gone bad? It was an ugly thought.

The dead could wait, there were survivors to attend to.

Emmett was already working on Bella's father, Charlie. Edward skirted the overturned furniture to reach Bella and Josh. He closed his hand carefully around Bella's shoulder and looked her over swiftly, trying to tell if she had been hit as well. He had seen victims walking around so deep in shock they didn't even realize they were hit.

There was a nasty gash on her right cheekbone just below her eye and her cheek had been scuffed, but the blood staining her suit and her hands, some of it dark red, having dried, and other patches bright and wet, didn't appear to be hers.

"I can't get the bleeding to stop."

Her voice was steady but she was quivering under his hand. He wished he had time to wrap his arm around her and hug her, try to stop the shivers. That this should happen to her and her family the same night he had met her…it made him sick at heart. "It's okay, Bella," he said gently. He eased his hands under hers, wedging his fingers under her palm, keeping the pressure on Joshua's shoulder steady. "I've got him."

She was leaning forward over her brother and Edward was crowding her space now that they were so close together. Did she realize her eyes were wide and her breathing fast, that her heart was pounding? He counted five beats in the moment he realized the twitch showing at her throat was her heartbeat. Calm down, he wanted to urge and was helpless to help her do that. She's just lived through a nightmare. She blinked. _Good girl_. _Come on, blink again_. She finally did. _Where are those paramedics? I need to get you out of here._

He turned his attention to her brother. He had to rip Josh's shirt to get a look at the injury. The bullet had hit him in his right shoulder, deflected off his collarbone, and come out at an angle just below it. Nasty, and bleeding heavily. Joshua's pallor was sharp; his eyes were closed and his lips were beginning to turn slightly blue. The young man he had admired earlier that evening was dying Edward realized with grim resolve, determined not to let that happen. One fatality was more than enough.

"I need to get Mom's heart pills."

Edward looked toward Renee and saw what Bella had. "Go," he said urgently.

Bella nodded and got to her feet, almost falling, catching herself with a hand on his shoulder. Her hand tightened as she drew a deep breath, took the first step away. His eyes narrowed as he watched her walk toward the bedroom. It looked like she was in danger of folding, but she kept going.

The sound of gunfire and someone tumbling and striking concrete burst over the net. "Shooter on the stairs. He's heading up!"

Edward jerked. Up toward the secure floor. "Sam? Come back."

"He winged me. I'm okay," Sam replied, his breathing ragged. "You guys coming down from nineteen be careful you don't shoot me by mistake and finish the job."

His partner was under fire. Edward looked over at Emmett, desperate to go. They had to be two places at once. Emmett, his face taut, shook his head. Edward hated it but accepted the fact Emmett was right. They couldn't leave Joshua and Charlie before help got here. "Where are those paramedics?"

"Coming up under escort. I told them to rush it and get medivac on the way."

"Mom, your pills," Bella said. "I grabbed Dad's prescription bottles too. The paramedics will need to know about the blood pressure medicine."

"I'll tell them. His medical alert tags, they'll need those too."

"Dad's wearing them," Bella said a moment later. "Mom, do you need to lie down? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. Go, help Josh. The man needs the extra hands."

He most certainly did. Edward glanced over, ready to tell Bella to stay with her mom despite that fact, only to meet Renee's firm gaze. The lady might be having a hard time physically coping with the suddenness of the shock, but there was steel in those soft grey eyes looking across the room at him. Renee was a fighter; that boded well. He studied her face for a moment, then gave a slight nod to her and looked over at Bella. He really did need her hands.

Bella rejoined him. She had thought to grab a stack of towels while in the bathroom. "Will these help?"

He took one, grateful. "Absolutely, thanks." He glanced over to see she had already given Emmett several.

"He just started shooting."

Edward looked sharply at Bella. In the back of his mind he had been hoping she had been in the bedroom, somewhere else, at least been spared actually seeing her brother and dad shot. Given what she had just said, he was surprised she had any composure left. "One shooter?"

She nodded and her brow furrowed. "Dark skin, late-thirties. Not tall, maybe five-foot-eight---" she visibly struggled with her words as she remembered--- "well dressed."

Over the security net he could hear each step of the hunt to pin the shooter down. Men were moving to seal the entire wing of the hotel. "What was he wearing?"

"A dark suit, navy, and a red tie."

He relayed the information as fast as she gave it. "Did you see his face?" When she flinched he momentarily hated himself.

"Gray eyes. They were so violent. And his hair was gray, really thin."

"Glasses, beard, mustache?"

"A mustache."

"Anything else about him? Did he say anything?"

She shook her head. "I remember thinking 'I surprised him,' then Josh hit me."

Edward glanced again at the open connecting door, the overturned furniture, and his time he was the one who flinched. Bella must have been the one to open the connecting door. The splintered wood on the door frame was level with the at gash on her face. The shooter had tried to kill her. Edward felt his hands go cold at the realization.

Sam swore over the security net. "He's out of the stairway. Repeat, the shooter got out of the stairwell. He's somewhere on floors eleven to fifteen!"

"Rule out floor fifteen, we've got the corridors covered," another deputy called.

Several moments later, another voice came across the secure channel. "I'm on fourteen. There's a merger meeting going on in the telecommunication conference center. The security guard says it's been quiet. The shooter's got to be somewhere on floors eleven to thirteen."

Three floors were still an eternity of space. There were service elevators, guest elevators, two sets of stairs, and that didn't even consider the hotel rooms. Edward broke into the security net traffic. "We need a hostage negotiator located. Now," he ordered. "See if Rosalie Cullen is in the hotel."

Emmett turned to give him a frustrated glance. "Why does it always have to be Rose who's around when trouble breaks?"

"Tell me about it," Edward replied, feeling a growing anxiety that this situation was so rapidly spiraling out of control. He knew the risk he had just potentially dropped into is sister's lap. "Nobody handles barricade situations better than Rosalie, we both know that. The shooter is pinned; he's not likely to give up without a fight when he's got rooms of hostages available to choose from."

"Someone shoot him before then, please," Emmett replied tersely.

Edward silently agreed, knowing if this became a barricade situation, they were facing high odds there would be another innocent victim. Rosalie had a nasty habit of putting herself between a gunman and a hostage. She was still getting over a hairline rib fracture from the last time she had done it. The Kevlar vest had stopped the bullet and she walked away from the situation annoyed with all the fuss he and Emmett made. Edward didn't think she had any idea how much gray hair she had given them in those twenty tense minutes.

He listened as men began to evacuate the hotel rooms one at a time. "How's Charlie doing?"

"Not good," Emmett replied. "Joshua?"

"Not much better," Edward replied grimly. "Bella, keep pressure right here." He took her hands to show here what he wanted, felt the coldness in her long fingers as he placed them over the towel. "I need to get his feet elevated." Anything to stop Joshua from bleeding out. Over the security net came word the paramedics were passing the seventh floor. Finally.

The bleeding was slowing. "Just keep it steady there, okay?"

She nodded.

They had a shooter loose. Judge Whitmore had died facing into his room. Someone had been inside. And according to Bella, it hadn't been a lady. Edward broke into the security net traffic again.

"The shooter may have a room pass key. Maybe even a master."

"Any other good news?" Sam asked.

"He likes to wait and take his victim by surprise."

"Wonderful. We'll try to avoid walking into one of his surprises," Sam promised. "Clearing these rooms is going to be slow work. It would be nice if we could get a sketch of this guy. From the description, it could still be one of many guests."

"It's a priority," Edward promised. He looked over at Bella. She was biting her bottom lip and her face was pasty white. He hoped she was a fighter like her mom. As soon as they got this situation stabilized, he as going to have to take her through the last twenty minutes in detail. There were times he hated what he had to do in his job. It was not how he had wanted to get to know here.

"Bella." She finally looked up. "The phone call to the desk, helping Josh, describing the shooter--- you did good."

Tears flooded her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.


	4. Three

Three

The paramedics arrived, and with them came enough help to secure the ninth floor. For Edward, the relief was palatable. The paramedic who joined him lifted the pressure pad from Josh's shoulder to get a quick look. He shook his head. "Jim, get the stretcher over here and get me an ETA on that medivac helicopter."

A paramedic was helping Bella's mom. Two paramedics had begun working on Charlie, their words terse and their actions fast as they worked to get the bleeding stopped and his breathing stabilized. Bella had moved to join them and looked lost as she knelt near her dad and watched them. As soon as Edward was sure Joshua was taken care of, he moved to her side.

He was finally free to wrap his arm around her and try to stop the shivers. "Hold still." He reached over to the open case the paramedic had brought up and tore open one of the gauze packages. He used it to wipe at the blood on her cheek. Her brown eyes were wet, the pupils very dilated. He changed his mind; she was beautiful. A guy could drown in those eyes. It was a nasty gash. She winced when he taped the bandage in place. "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"We need to get your mom out of here," he said, knowing it was the best way to get her out of here as well.

"I know. But I don't want to leave Josh and Dad."

"They are going to be medivaced to St. Luke's. We'll meet them there," he promised. She didn't protest when he lifted her back.

Edward motioned Officer Young over. "Is there an empty hotel room nearby?" Edward quietly asked the officer.

She checked on the security net, then nodded. "966."

"Bella, I want you to go with Tina and change clothes, wash up, then get together what you think your mom will need."  
It wasn't much, but at least the blood on her hands and clothes could be dealth with. She looked down at her hands, turned them palm up, and flexed them as if they hurt. She seemd to be seeing it for the first time.

Tina encouraged her to turn toward the back bedroom to get her things. Using a different room was necessary; for this suite was now a crime scene. Edward watched until they disappeared in the bedroom, and then he had to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He's just watched Bella's life disintegrate. In a few days, his might be the last face in the world she would want to see as he became part of the memory of what had happened tonight.

The paramedic with Bella's mom motioned him over.

"Mrs. Swan?" Edward knelt down beside the stretcher to be at her level. The lady was beautiful, but the last half hour had aged her severly. She'd been lying when she told Bella she was okay; it was there in thes train on her face and the faint labor of her breathing. But when his gaze met hers, any suggestion of fragileness disappeared. There was anger there.

"Tell me how Josh is, they won't tell me anything."

"He's not as badly hurt as your husband." It wasn't much, but to a mother it would mean something.

She searched his face, then nodded, relieved. "Thank you." Her eyes closed. He would have moved back but she took a deep breath and opened her eyes, and what he saw in her gaze made him go still.

"Find the man who did this." It was an order.

"We will." It was the one thing eh was certain of. They had a judge murdered; they would find the shooter. "Did you see him?"  
She shook her head with regret. "I was in the bedroom. I heard Bella scream, and then I saw Charlie…I wish I did have something that could help you."

The paramedic, out of her sight, shook his head and indicated they had to get her out of here. Edward eased back to disengage, only to stop when Renee's hand closed on his arm, gripping it with surprising strength. She was fighting to keep tears from weakening her voice. "Bella's going to need me tonight and I'm going to be worthless to help her once the doctors get hold of me. Promise me she won't be left on her own while Josh and Charlie are in surgery. Promise me."

"Renee, you've got my word," Edward reassured softly. Bella was a witness; there would be security with her around the clock. But even if that security hadn't been necessary, he would still have stepped into make arrangements for her. The guilt already hung heavy. There should have been a way to prevent this from ever happening. Bella wasn't going to be left to pace a waiting room alone tonight.

Renee's hand on his arm loosened. She even gave a glimmer of a smile. "Don't let one of the political 'close friends of the family' sit with her either. They'll want to distract her by talking about the governor's race. That's the last thing my daughter needs. Her guy is losing, and she absolutely hates to lose. She'll end up in the hospital bed next to me."

Edward couldn't help but return her smile. "No politicians, no press." He eased free, aware of how gray her face was even with the oxygen the paramedics now had her on. "They are going to take you to St. Luke's hospital; I'll be bringing Bella there in a few minutes."

Renee nodded, and Edward rose to let the paramedics take her out. He liked Bella's mom. Stubborn grit, his sister Alice would have said, and said it with admiration.

Bella would be a few moments. Edward moved across the suite to the connecting door, turning his attention back to the victim.

Within the hour, the national news would have the details and this investigation would become a coordination mess. The only way to survive the firestorm was to solve the case fast. When he found the shooter…

"What do you think?" Edward asked Emmett.

"The shooter had the nerve to wake into a place full of cops; the hit was well-planned. He got surprised and didn't finish off the witnesses, so he's not an ice-cold, paid professional. This was personal," Emmett replied, thinking out loud.

Edward began to string together what he saw. "The shooter waits for the judge to enter the room; kills him with three shots to the center of the chest. He's surprised when the connecting door opens. He hits the door frame instead of Bella, and the other shots fired into their suite appear to be scattered, so he's acting panicked. A little more control and all of them would be dead."

"His plan is blown. And for him, the plan was everything."

Edward went back on the security net. "Sam?"

"Go ahead."

"This shooter had a plan, a detailed one; it got blown by unexpected witnesses and his reactions shows a distinct lack of control. He's running now without his plan. Anything is possible."

"Permission to give this manhunt back to you?" Sam asked dryly.

"I'll get you a sketch of the shooter. I've got witnesses to get out of here," Edward replied. Anything was possible. Including the shooter doubling back to try and eliminate his mistake. Bella might be the only one who had seen his face, and that made Edward very uneasy. "How bad are you hurt? I can send up a medic."

"The shot grazed my left arm, it can wait."

Edward had no choice but to accept his word for it. Taking Sam off the manhunt was the last thing he wanted to do. There were very few marshals with his expertise. "Make sure you get a firewall established below floor nineteen; moving Justice Roosevelt is more dangerous than it's worth. How's the evacuation going?"

"About a third done. We're moving the guests to the Paris conference room, doing interview there to see if anyone saw or heard anything."

"Has Rosalie arrived on the scene?"

"She's with me now."

"Hi, Edward. Thanks for the business."

Her voice over the net was her working one: clear, calm, not yet bored. She only sounded bored when she had a gun pointed at her head. "Rose, quit chewing gum on the security net. It's annoying."

"Sorry. Are you under control down there? I could use a look at the scene. I need to know how this guy thinks."

"Emotionally," Edward summed up in one word. "As soon as the paramedics get done, Emmett's going to own the crime scene. He can arrange a walk-through."

"Edward, it's Sam again. We're flushing these three floors. We've got this hotel wing secure, but this shooter was moving fast."

"You think he might have slipped though."

"We're coming up on fifteen minutes and I haven't been shot at again."

"Point well taken. Consider this situation no longer contained."

"Got it."

With that simple decision, the response had just leaped from the hotel to six blocks around the hotel and all the airports, train stations, and other means of exiting the city.

Edward dropped off the security net.

Renee and Joshua were wheeled out. The paramedics moved to transfer Charlie to a stretcher.

"Charlie doesn't have much of a chance. He took two hits to the center of the chest," Emmett said softly.

They had a witness to a murder who might lose members of her own family; it complicate matters enormously. If Charlie died—it could either strengthen Bella's resolve or create enough fear that her memory would become vague. Edward had been around witness protection long enough to know there was no way to predict how someone would react to such an event. Bella's world right now was her mother, father, and brother. Getting them somewhere safe was critical.

"I'll stay with them at the hospital, work with Bella," Edward decided. "You've got this crime scene; tear it apart. And let's hope we've got another witness somewhere on this floor. I don't know how much more Bella will be able to give us."

The paramedics headed out with Charlie. Edward watched them leave, then turned back to Emmett. "Talk to Connor in the command center. We need the full file on Judge Whitmore: Get men digging into his past cases, and find out everything there is to know about who knew he was going to appear on that short list and when they knew it. Then get men working on a profile of Charlie Swan and his family. They were friends of Carl. The shooter got surprised. I want to rule out any possibility he had them further down on his master plan."

"You've got it, Edward."

Edward slapped him on the shoulder, more grateful than he knew how to say that Emmett was here. Almost family counted. Six months, he figured, probably less, and Emmett and Rosalie would be engaged.

He picked up one of the extra towels to wipe the blood off his hands, pulling his signet off to drop it into this pocket until he could clean it. His watchband would need to be soaked to come clean, he recognized with some dispassion.

Officer Tina Young appeared in the suite doorway; and Edward turned, expecting Bella. The expression on the officer's face had him abandoning his task to cross the room. "She washed up, changed, and then—" The officer stepped aside and pointed to room 966.

Edward moved to the other hotel room.

Bella was standing by the sink in the bathroom, one hip resting against the marble countertop. She'd changed into jeans and a pink sweater but was still barefoot. She looked painfully young.

The tears were falling unchecked. She wasn't making a sound, but her shoulders were shaking. Her right thumb was rubbing at the remnants of dried blood on her other palm, trying to erase it from the crevices of her hand. She'd washed, but not all of the blood came off.

Even knowing this was inevitable, that the controlled calm during the crisis would give way to the shock, didn't ease the impact seeing it had. Words weren't going to help. Edward bent and picked up the wet towel she had been using that had dropped to the floor. He slid his hand firmly over the back of her wrist, capturing the offending hand in his, feeling her fluttering pulse under his long fingers. The wet towel had grown cool. He turned on the water faucet, made sure it got no more than moderately warm, and picked up the soap.

It didn't take an expert to know what seeing her brother's blood on her hands was doing to her. He finally got her palm clean. He spread her fingers and washed the faint trace of blood from between them. He could do little abut the blood under her nails. Very neat nails with light red polish, two now jaggedly broken.

"The water always stays pink."

"Bella, look at me." He had to repeat it twice before she raised her head. The tears were ending, but behind them was a heavier blackness. "You can't help your family if you fall apart."  
He had to stay blunt. She needed a reason to focus and the best thing that could happen would be if this despair could be replaced with anger at the shooter. It would give her the ability to get through the coming hours.

She drew in a deep breath as if he'd slapped her. "I'll be okay."

He squeezed her hands, regretting that he couldn't step in and coddle her. He would love to wrap her in cotton right now and deny the world any change to get close to her and cause her more pain. That wasn't possible. "I'm going to need your help in the next couple hours."

"I've having trouble with my own name right now."

"The shock will fade," he calmly replied. Her hands were clean now, her fingertips had even begun to wrinkle. He reached for a dry towel and folded her hands in his, drying them. "Ready to leave?"

The first stark glimmer of a smile appeared. It was a painful reminder that the lady he had met and found so enjoyable earlier that evening was now gone; her smile was fractured. "Absolutely."

"Good." He held her gaze for several moments, wishing he knew how to read what she was thinking. She was looking at him as if she wanted to ask something but was mute. She turned toward the bedroom and the moment was broken.

Tina had found tennis shoes for her. Bella sat on the side of the bed and pulled them on.

"Joshua was airlifted to the hospital about a minute ago. Your father should be airborne in a couple minutes. Our mom is already on the way and I've got a car downstairs for you."

She nodded.

Tina handed Bella a shopping bag. "The clothes for your mom."

"Thanks."

"Come on," Edward said gently, putting his hand on Bella's back to direct her. He didn't like the fact he was leaving while the hunt for the shooter was still in progress, but he had no choice. In the triad of witness, shooter, and crime scene, they were all critical. He trusted Sam to handle the shooter, and Emmett to handle the crime scene. He would rather have Bella and her family remain his responsibility.

He escorted Bella down the hall to elevators keeping his hand under her elbow. She was limping and it looked like she was favoring her knee, not her ankle. He would have to make sure a doctor checked her out when they got to the hospital.

The elevator controls had been overridden so that only the security center could activate them. He asked for the first floor. They were going out a secure entrance on the first floor rather than descent to the lobby where the press could see them. Bella leaned back against the elevator wall as it descended.

Edward didn't break the ensuing silence. She needed time to collect herself, and he needed time to think. They had contingency plans in place for hospital security, but his first order of business would be abele to get them strengthened. This shooter had shown no qualms about acting in the midst of heavy security.

The media was going to be a problem as soon as they learned which hospital they should haunt for news. This was not going to be a one day story; he would have to plan security for the duration of the time Joshua and Charlie were in the hospital. And Bella and her mom would eventually need other accommodations- he couldn't risk bringing them back to this hotel; they would need someplace close to the hospital.

"Carl's really dead."

He looked over at Bella, understanding the need to be told what she already knew. "Yes."

"Why did this happen? Why him?"

It was the hardest question to answer about any crime: why. If they caught the shooter and he confessed they would get a definitive answer. Short of that, it would take a long investigation to figure out the motive. "We'll find out."  
She rubbed her eyes. "He never knew he was going to make the short list."

His gaze sharpened. "You knew?"

"That page during dinner was John passing on the news. Josh and I had ordered a special dinner to the room to celebrate. Carl hadn't eaten much at the banquet. I should have told Carl rather than wait for him to get the official call, but it was going to be a surprise. He needed some good news. And he died never knowing…"

Her voice drifted off. Edward waited a moment to see if she would say anything else. "Who's John?"

She took a deep breath. "My boss, the governor of Virginia. I need to call him."

The governor of the Commonwealth of Virginia was her boss. This situation, already highly political, would have the extra dimension of the Swan family being personal friends of Governor Palmer. "I'll get it arranged," he promised. "Bella, did you tell anyone about the page?"

"Joshua knew, and my parents, but we were waiting for Carl to get the official call before we invited his friends to the suite to help us celebrate. Do you think Carl was killed because he was going on the short list?"

There was no sense trying to keep the obvious from her. She would be in the middle of this investigation until its conclusion. "It's possible." The look of pain that crossed her expression was intense, as if that answer wounded her personally. Why? "Do you think you can help me put together a sketch of the shooter?"

"I'll try." She bit her bottom lip. "I only saw him for a few seconds, Edward. And after that first moment when I realized what I was seeing…it's scattered."

"Do you think your brother saw him?"

She shook her head. "He was off to my right when the connecting door opened. I was still screaming when that bullet hit the doorframe, and Josh hit me in that instant. I don't think the shooter moved beyond the doorway." Her eyes closed, and she shivered. "Josh got shot because of me."

"Bella---" He waited until she looked over at him. "Trust me. Josh is glad he was able to reach you in time. As hard as it is for you to see him hurt, just remember, he would feel worse if you were the one hurt."

She gave a glimmer of a smile. "A guy thing? "

"Yes."

"Are they going to be okay? Josh…and Dad?"

"Can you handle the truth?"

"No, but I prefer it."

The job demanded he keep a professional, impersonal distance. There were times that kind of distance didn't fit the circumstances. He reached over and gripped her hand, having found long ago that bad news delivered with a touch sometimes helped lessen the sing. For both of them. "I think you'd better be prepared for the worst," he answered gently. "Josh is hurt, but he's young. I think he'll make it. But your father…it looks bad. He might not make it through surgery."

She had to know that, had to be prepared, and it would be wrong not to warn her. He felt her flinch, saw her jaw work, then she shuttered. "He'll make it. He has to," she whispered fiercely. "I'll help you however I can with information about the shooter, what happened. But can you wait to talk to Mom until tomorrow? She's already had enough shock for one day."

"I think so. We're going to make this as easy on all of you as we can; that's a promise."

"Will you be staying with us at the hospital?"

She's just been shot at and she sounded apologetic for asking if he would be around to help as all the churn hit. He knew his life was going to be chaotic in the next few days as he worked the case, but it was nothing compared to what had just hit hers. She was a witness; her family was hurt; within days any secrets she thought she had would be considered fair game for reporters across the country…she's just lost her life as she knew it although he didn't think she fully realized that yet.

"I'll be watching out for you throughout this," he replied, determined to do what he could to throw a shield around her from the worst of it. "That's a promise, Bella."

He felt it, those words. It was a Cullen promise. She wouldn't understand what that meant, didn't need to. It was enough for him to realize the line he had crossed. The shooter had made a fatal mistake. He had shot a judge with impunity. He had hurt a lady Edward knew. He had made the case personal. Edward would put the weight of the Cullen family behind solving the case, and together they were a group it was unwise to cross.

She squeezed his hand, "Thank you."

Edward looked at their linked hands. Her hand not only fit his but also looked right there. He rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. She was strong like her mom. She'd get through this. With a little help from him. He squeezed her hand before releasing it. The elevator doors opened. "Stay close."

* * *

Rosalie Cullen positioned herself beside Sam by the door of room 1124. It was one of eleven rooms on this floor where they hadn't been able to get an answer on the phone. They had used the registration information to try and track down the guests in the hotel and failed to do so. They had no choice but to assume the room was a threat situation.

They were using fiber optic cameras under the doors to make a first look, then opening and searching the rooms. Rosalie leaned her head back against the wall. She was at Sam's elbow on the distinct probability they might open a door and have a gunman with a hostage waiting for them. Those first seconds would be critical and all hers to deal with.

"What do you think, Rosalie?"

They had to do these sweeps fast, eliminating rooms; every minute without the gunman found simply spread the threat area. They also had to move with caution. It was adrenaline draining; the worst kind of search. It didn't help that her gum was getting old. "You're bleeding on the carpet."

Sam looked and scowled. "A few drops; you would think I was bleeding out the way you keep hassling me. At the price they charge for rooms, the hotel can probably afford to shampoo the carpet."

"Leah's not here; someone's got to hassle you." Rosalie rather liked Edward's partner, and the fact he annoyed her sister Leah only increased that conclusion. She took another glance at the fiber optic feed. This was a suite of rooms, one of the highest risk entries since they could only see a potion of the rooms. They were fifty seconds and still no sign of movement. "Open the door."

Sam popped the lock and they swept into the suite; four men from the SWAT team, Sam, and Rosalie following them in.

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Clear!"

The cops were efficient and thorough; all rooms, closets, and other places where someone could conceal himself were methodically checked.

"This is getting old," Rosalie commented, feeling her heart rate slow down.

"Tell me about it," Sam replied. "Any ideas?"

"Get a structural engineer up here. I'd love to know what other ways there are off these three floors. Air ducts and the like. We're running out of rooms to check."  
Sam nodded. "Worth trying. There should be an engineer in the Belmont room." He made the call down to the security center, requesting the man be found and brought upstairs.

The guest room door was sealed with police tape to show the room had been swept. They moved to the next room on their list and began the careful process of setting up the fiber optic feed.

"A dead judge; two wounded. Want to lay odds we're going to open a door and find the shooter has killed himself?" Sam asked.

"Doubtful. He acted in the middle of a hotel full of cops. He had a plan to get away. The mere fact he went up instead of down is striking."

"This guy gets away, life is going to get very ugly until he's caught."

Rosalie nodded. She was already bracing for the worst. Edward had always been there for her when she needed him; it looked like she was going to be returning the favor. A U.S. Marshal having a judge killed—someone was going to have to sit on Edward and remind him to get some sleep occasionally.

She held up a hand, made a fist, and the officer moving the fiber optic lens held steady. Sam took a look at the small display and agreed with her. Only two feet wearing blue socks were visible, but someone was lying on the bed. He motioned an officer to dial the room phone again; Rosalie saw no movement. He wasn't moving to answer the ringing phone.

"Room registration?" Sam asked.

"Kevin McCurry. A judge from the seventh circuit," another officer replied.

Sam looked at her. "Your call."

"Thanks a lot." Rosalie considered the situation for a moment. "We've either got another victim, a very heavy sleeping guest, a hostage, or a dead shooter. The room lights are off. We kill the hall lights, unlock the door, open it a fraction, and we slide the fiber optic camera in high, so we can see the room. In the worst case, we risk getting gunfire back at us."

Sam nodded. "It will work."

Ten minutes later, they were dealing with an irate guest whose hearing aid had been turned off.

* * *

She had just gone to bed and her pager was going off. Leah Cullen rolled over and squashed it with a forceful hand. Bleary-eyed, she tried to find her shoes. They had been kicked off haphazardly when she collapsed on the bed. Her boss had promised her a weekend off call, but she didn't truly mind, even though it had already been a sixty-hour week. If she slept, she would dream, and thanks to Kevin they had become the kinds of nights she would prefer to forget.

The ER doctor had been a steady date up until six months ago when he'd taken a slap at her profession and she had been stunned to realize he meant it. She had come home, curled up on the couch, and cried, and no guy had done that easily since she was sixteen. She had promised herself to tell Kevin no in the future, but last week he'd caught her at a weak moment and she'd said yes to dinner. It had been a disaster. Would she ever learn? He was still a rat.

A squeaking metal wheel broke the silence and she looked across the room at he metal cage with the spinning wheel. Her white mice were awake. "Sorry guys. I didn't mean the insult."

A page at this time of night could only mean one thing: the lab was dealing with so many homicides they were shorthanded and were calling in other shifts. And since she was one of the few forensic pathologists in the office that enjoyed the on-site work, she would probably be spending the middle of the night in some city alley. She would rather go deal with the dead than with another living person. She turned on the bathroom light and winced. She looked like one of the dead.

She looked like Sam. That realization didn't improve her mood. She was glad she had said no to Sam's offer for dinner. Women liked him too much for her to want to compete for his attention. And while she knew she wasn't the most sparkling or witty lady in her family, being asked out third was humiliating. She was the Cullen that couldn't stay out of trouble and couldn't seem to get her social life together. Sam had been feeling sorry for her.

Enough. She was off men. They didn't make them as nice as her brothers and there was no use having her heart hurt again. She had been crying on Alice's shoulder last night, feeling like a wimp, and she hated that.

Leah picked up the pager and went to work wondering who had died.


	5. Four

Four

"Bella." Edward held out the Styrofoam cup. It was hot tea, very sweet. She took it from him with a murmured thanks. She was still too shaky on her feet for his comfort. If this didn't get some color back in her face, she was going to accept a sedative. "Are you sure you don't want a doctor to look at that knee? You keep rubbing it." They were the only ones in the hospital waiting room. Security had this section of the hospital floor closed.

She glanced at him. "I'll be okay. I just aggravated an old injury. Josh talked me into skydiving once and I landed hard."

It said a lot about Bella that she would allow her brother to talk her into trying something like skydiving. She was either fearless or brave enough to face a petrifying fear. Stepping out of an airplane took a lot of nerve. "Adventurous."

"A sucker when it comes to family." She leaned her head back against the wall.

"Your mom is settled?"

"In room 841 down the hall. They gave her something to help her sleep. With her history of heart problems, the specialist didn't want to take chances. She was annoyed at their insistence, but she took it."

"She struck me as strong willed."

"She's never been one to accept without a fight the fact her health is not good."

"The surgeon said it's going to be another hour before there is any news on Joshua and Charlie," he commented, glad now that he intercepted the doctor coming to see Bella. He left unsaid the grim assessment the doctor had made about her dad. She had enough to deal with at the moment, and nothing the doctor had said would change the outcome.

"Until they are out of surgery, and that will be hours, no news is good news." She sighed. "I should probably get on the phone, begin making some calls."

Her voice was steady, her color was coming back, but he could hear the reluctance. "No reason to rush it." He drank his coffee and waited.

"Has anyone ever told you you're good at being tactful?"

"I'm a cop, Bella, but I've also been in your seat waiting for news about family. I can give you a moment; not much more than that, but at least a moment."

"I appreciate it," She finished her tea. "Open your notebook. I'll give you what answers I can."

Edward glanced at his watch and noted the time on his notepad. "Walk me though what happened tonight."

"Where do I start?"

"Anywhere safe," Edward suggested quietly. "How about early this evening when you went down to the banquet?"

"We went down together, Carl and my family, about 5:45 PM"

Edward started filling pages as she talked. She thought her family had gotten back to the suite about 9:45. Room service had been delivered. Carl had been shot minutes later. Edward wrote a note to himself to make sure they immediately interviewed the hotel employee who had delivered that room service. The security net had put out the alert of shorts fired at 10:20 so Bella's time estimates sounded accurate.

"When you knocked on the connecting door, it swung open on its own?"

"The latch hadn't caught."

"Where was Carl when you saw him?"

"In front of me, about five feet inside the room." Her voice choked. "He was falling backwards and I knew his head was going to hit the wall. I heard the echo of shots."

"Where was the gunman."

"To my---" she looked momentarily confused.

_Directionally challenged_. "You're facing into the room. Where's he standing?"

She held out her hand, her look grateful. "Here. By the foot of the bed."

"Was there much distance between them?"

"Four feet? Five? Not much more."

The gunman must have stepped out from the bathroom to the end of the bed and fired. "Did you hear Carl say anything? Cry out in alarm?"

"He seemed surprised, startled."

_Surprised to find someone in the room, or surprised because he knew the shooter?_

"What happened after that?"

She stumbled over the words when she tried to describe the minutes in the suite before he and Emmett had arrived. Edward paused her. "Relax. Take it slow." He had to ask. He needed to know if she had noticed anything else about the shooter after that first shot.

"I'm sorry, Edward. After Josh hit me…" She shook her head.

"It's okay. Let's change the subject." He picked up the larger pad of paper he'd borrowed from another officer, then removed a second, more expensive fine-lead pencil from his pocket. "Let's try to get a sketch."

"You're an artist?"

"I'm decent at the basics." The importance of faces to his job had given him years of practice. "Close your eyes, think about his face, and just tell me what you see."

Her eyelashes fluttered closed, and she drew and released a deep breath. "Think tough. He's got wide cheekbones and broad eyebrows. Everything about his appearance is well groomed, except it looks like he has run his hand through his hair."

As he sketched, Edward paid attention to how she remembered details, listening for when she hesitated. He had worked with a lot of witnesses over the years. Bella had an unusually sharp memory for details; very little of what she said was vague. "What do you do for the governor?" he asked idly.

"I write speeches; I'm working on his reelection campaign."

"You use memory tricks to remember the name and face of everyone you meet." It was more of a statement than a question; the answer was pretty obvious. He sketched in the jaw line of the suspect.

"Yes. It's instinctive now."

There was something about watching a quarry appear under his pencil that always made an impact on Edward. It became personal, the attachment of a face to the crime. The face would stay with him for years, would remain vivid until the case was solved. Since most of his cases were tracking down fugitives, he often spent time traveling modifying sketches of suspects to age them, change their appearance, until he knew their face as well as he knew his own.

"How would you adjust this?" He turned the sketch to her.

"Hey, it's not to bad."

He smiled at her surprise.

She took it from him, studied it. He watched her close her eyes, then open them for a brief instant and close them again- it was a memory trick, a good way to give her a good comparison. She handed the sketch back and indicated the cheekbones. "Lower the cheekbones just a little, and broaden his eyebrows."

Edward refined it.

"Better."

Over the next twenty minutes, he changed it until Bella could think of no further adjustments. "That's him."

Edward studied the face, memorizing it. He added all the specifics Bella had told him about the shooter to the bottom of the page- age, height, weight, clothing. "Let me get people working on this. And I am going to get someone to look at that knee," he warned. "You need an ice pack on that and probably a dozen other bruises."

"Josh hits like a linebacker. And I am starting to feel the effects. My ribs ache."

Bella was just like his four sisters. Downplaying what hurt unless he called them on it. "Then it's definitely time for you to see a doctor."

He glanced at his watch and found it was coming up on midnight. "I won't be long. And I'll have Craig stay with you while I'm gone."

"I'm okay Edward."

"I know you are, but humor me." He reached into his pocket. "Until we can get your things cleared at the scene, I got you another phone."

He hesitated, then pulled a blank page from the back of the notebook and wrote down two numbers. "Memorize them," he said quietly. "If you ever need me, for any reason, a problem, a question, just to chat about the weather-" he smiled-"or to share one of those secrets of yours, page me and put in the second number. It's unique. I'll call, no matter where I am."

She looked at it, puzzled.

"You don't need to understand. Just use it if you need it."

"Some kind of secret code."

He smiled faintly. "Something like that. A family one." He picked up his notebook "I'll try to bring your address book back with me. Should I bring your pager, or would you like me to conveniently lose it?"

"What a tempting thought. But you'd better bring it."

"Will do."

"Edward, how much can I tell people?"

He hesitated and his face turned serious. "Don't tell people you saw him."

"Do you think that information can be suppressed?"

"The longer it can be kept quiet the better."

He squeezed her shoulder lightly as he rose, reassuring her again that he would be back. He didn't want her feeling abandoned in the middle of the commotion, something that could happen without it being intended as investigators working the case focused on the dead at the expense of the living. "Listen to what the doctors tell you. And if you do need to leave this secure wing for some reason, take Craig for company."

"I've got a baby-sitter."

"Something like that," he replied. "Like I said. Humor me.""Right. Okay. It's a guy thing."

He chuckled. "A U.S. Marshal one at least. I'll be back."

* * *

Bella watched the door close behind him and found it took a few moments for her smile to fade. She really liked that man; he was definitely the right person to have around during a crisis. He was right about her habit of memorizing a face and name, and she had the habit of remembering first impressions. For Edward it was an interesting combination of words: tough, strong, kind.

She looked at the numbers on the slip of paper, memorizing them. She had worn her emergency pager far too long not to understand the significance of what he had given her. She was frankly surprised at the scope of what he had just offered.

His hand when he had squeezed her shoulder had been warm and comforting, if impersonal. He thought she could get through this; it came through in his steady gaze and touch. Bella wished she shared his confidence.

She rubbed the back of her neck. She more than just ached; the headache was becoming vicious. The muscles in her back had tightened to the point they would break; her bones refused to unlock. She got to her feet to walk the length of the room, willing to accept the pain from her aching knee to try and get her muscles to relax.

What did she need to do next….Where did she start? There were relatives, distant ones, but a lot of them. Bella felt ashamed to realize at that moment she was actually glad her family was in Washington and wouldn't be able to descend for a few hours. She simply didn't have the means to cope with a crowd right now, and they would want to talk about the details. Aunt Margaret, Mom's sister, would be a great help to have here, but she lived in London. It would take a day for her to make the trip.

Carl's friends. How was she going to break the word Carl was dead? Bella shuddered just at the thought. He's been in her life since her earliest memories, a friend of the family; the uncle she had never had. How was she supposed to tell his friends he had been murdered?

A heart attack she could have handled, but shot to death—maybe John could make those calls for her. Someone would have to call before they found out from the media.

She knew Dad was executor of Carl's will, and he was in no position to deal with that responsibility. Neither was Josh. That means Carls' funeral arrangements would fall to her. And she would have to get plans underway quickly or Mom would try to step in. That was the last kind of stress she needed right now.

She had never planned a funeral before.

"I need that pad of paper," she murmured. She was starting to think, and she wished she could shut if off for a moment, the assault of things that needed to be done. She didn't want to be the one to handle them, but by default she was elected.

She was thirty-four, and until this point in her life the toughest challenge she had been asked to face was the defeat of legislation she had poured months of effort into, the defeat of a candidate she believed in, and the heartbreak of a relationship gone bad.

The terror she had struggled to push down and contain while Edward was here broke through, and she leaned her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass.

_Jesus, why?_

She felt the tears sliding down her cheeks as she remembered Carl lying dead, Josh shot, Dad shot.

_I've never seen so much blood before. This is my family and it stands on a precipice of being shattered in one night. Carl is dead. Mom is at risk. Josh and dad are both in surgery._

She needed her dad and brother to recover.

_Did my brief cause this? I prayed so stubbornly for Carl to reach the court and I poured all my skills into writing that brief. Did I walk Carl into getting killed?_

It had been unintentional, but the guilt swamped over her like a wave.

Her eyes flitted over a card next to her on the table with Psalm 68. _"Blessed by the Lord, who daily bears us up; God is our salvation. Our God is a God of salvation; and to God, the Lord, belongs escape from death."_

* * *

_  
_

They should have found the shooter by now; Edward knew it. He strode into the hotel past the security, past the growing crowd of reporters, his jaw tight. At least with a solid sketch they could turn the tide back in their favor and force the shooter to hole up and thus stay in the area.

The emotions from being with Bella were finally beginning to bleed off. There was no such thing as impassively being around grief; it always rubbed off and had to be dispelled somehow. Some cops dispelled it in morbid humor; other absorbed it and it tore apart their personal lives. Edward tended to direct the emotions he felt back in intensity toward the case.

He couldn't undo what had happened o her, to her family, but he could help bring her justice. Swift, complete justice. He had never lost a judge before and it stung, viciously.

The security center activity appeared chaotic on the surface, but only until it became apparent how the groups had appropriated space. Connor had overall coordination of the room at the moment, and he was pacing as he talked on the phone.

Edward held up the sketch and waved Connor toward the east side of the room where Luke was working; he got a nod in reply.

He joined his deputy, Luke. "Bella was able to give us a sketch of the shooter. Put priority on getting copies to Sam and to hospital security. Then put a rush on getting it run through our databases. I want an ID on this guy."

"Do you want it given out to the media?"

"I want to hear Emmett, Sam, and Connor's opinion first, but probably. I would like to get name to go with the face first. The media's all over this?"

Luke nodded. "News got out about twenty-five minutes ago. We've made all the networks. The phone lines have been jammed with the volume of TV crews and print reporters. We've implemented our contingency bank of isolated numbers. So far they know it was Judge Whitmore killed; they know there were others hurt. It hasn't leaked yet that there's a witness and so far we've been able to suppress the Swan name, but I don't expect that to hold."

"Neither do I. Grant is coordinating all press information?"

"Yes."

"Get a copy of the sketch to him as well. And tell him to do what he can to kill the witness information somehow. The shooter knows Bella saw him, but I'd rather not keep reminding him of that fact."

Luke handed over two manila folders. "Carl's threat file and what there is so far on the Swan family."

Edward flipped open the file on the Swans. They had pulled together a lot in a short time: pictures, bio sketches, newspaper clippings. He focused on Bella's personal friends. She needed someone with her tonight. If he could get it arranged, all the better. "Luke, track down Governor Palmer of Virginia for me. He'll have heard by now, I'm sure. Tell him I want to speak with him about Bella."

"I'll get him for you and forward the call."

The number of newspaper clippings on Bella was thick and this was only a brief set compared to what could come with time. A good rule of thumb: Anyone in the news this often had enemies.

"We need someone focused solely on building Bella's file. She's our only known witness and I don't like the look of this file. She is way too public a figure—these are news articles not social page clips. That means trouble. Tell them to pull everything for the last three years and get it to me fast."

"News footage as well as print?"

"Yes."

Edward opened Judge Whitmore's file. Carl's threat file was indeed slim—twelve threats in five years. Edward skimmed the codes on the index page. Three death threats, but none of them in the last couple years. He frowned. There wasn't much here to work with. "Anything at all on Whitmore's personal life? Relatives, background, finances, anything?"

"They are digging."

"Have someone track me down as soon as it comes in."

"Will do. There's a growing list of calls coming in for Bella and her family. The hospital knows not to give information, and the hotel has been instructed to simply take messages. Any change to that?"

"No, keep that blackout in place. I'll ask Bella if there is a family friend she wants to return calls on their behalf. They are going to need a family spokesperson to deal with the press. Sam upstairs?"

"Yes. Nothing turned up on the floor sweeps."

"The shooter's gone." The clock was a harsh master.

"We'll plaster the city with the sketch. You know the local cops will do a full-court press to be the ones to bring him in."

"There is that," Edward agreed, just wanting the guy found. "I'm going to touch base with Emmett and Sam, then head back to the hospital. Page me if we get anything."

He stepped out of the Belmont Room and literally bumped into his sister Alice. He automatically reached out a hand to steady her. "Alice, what are you doing here?" He was surprised, not only that she was here, but that she was inside the security zone.

"I patched up Sam while he growled at me. Your partner doesn't like doctors. He's as bad as some of my pediatric patients."

"How bad was he hit?"

"Sixteen stitches, but he bled for a good hour and a half before he paused to let me fix him up. And he would have refused the local if I hadn't told him to shut up."

"It sounds just like Sam."

"He's stubborn as a mule," Alice agreed. She took a deep breath. "Actually Edward, I'm glad I bumped into you. I've got a 9:00 P.M. flight and I need to talk to you sometime before then."

He went still. "You came over with Rose for dinner?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong?" Rosalie, who knew what was going on, was very worried. He brushed back her hair, tipped up he chin, and tried to read her expression.

"Nothing that won't keep until later today."

"Alice—"

Her hand settled firmly on his forearm. "It will keep; I'm serious." She gave him that tolerant smile he had come to know only too well as she talked people into what they didn't want. "I promise we'll talk before I have to leave."

Trivial things did not have Rosalie pacing the floor. Edward was not about to let this be pushed aside. Unfortunately, at that moment Alice was right, there were competing demands on his time he couldn't ignore. "You're sure?"

"Yes. Do you need any help at the hospital?"

Given the circumstances, he had to accept the change of subject. "Yes, I think I will. Can I page you? Will you be around the hotel?"

"Yes, I'll be here. Go to work."

Edward had no choice. "I'll page." He headed to the elevator.

* * *

The crime scene had extended to encompass the entire ninth floor. An officer assigned to serve as case scribe recorded Edward's badge number, name and time of arrival to the floor. With the guests evacuated, the floor now effectively sealed off, only necessary officers remained.

Two crime scene technicians were taking a powerful light down the hallway, looking for evidence that might have been missed on the first pass.

Emmett came to meet him. "How are Josh and Charlie doing?"

"Still in surgery, but holding on. How's it going here?" Two men from the medical examiners officer were waiting with a stretcher and a folded body bag; Judge Whitmore hadn't been moved yet.

"It's under control."

Edward followed him into the Swan's suite. The crime scene technician videotaping the scene paused to change cassettes, mark the first one into evidence. It was necessary to walk with care, yellow numbered evidence tags marked items slated to be collected once they were photographed.

He stopped at the connecting door. His sister Leah was kneeling beside Judge Whitmore's body, studying his left hand. Edward was surprised to see her, then realized it made sense. This was as high a profile case as you could get. The medical examiner and the state crime lab commissioner would have talked, assigned one of the central staff to coordinate the scene. "Leah."

She glanced back. "Hi Edward."

"What do you see?"

She rocked back on her heels. "Very light powder burns. He tried to block the first shot."

She wore latex gloves but was spinning a gold pen. Edward had learned to leave her pens alone. She liked gold because the blood would wipe off. On the clipboard tucked under her arm, he could see part of her preliminary scene sketch.

"We've just started to actually process the scene. It will be another hour before we can move his body, probably five or six hours on evidence. Emmett said you were the one who entered this room in the initial minutes after the shooting."

"Yes."

"I need your shoes."

His shoes. Of course. "My room is downstairs. Can I get another pair, then bring these back?"

She frowned back at him. "I supposed, seeing as how you've been over to the hospital and back in them."

"There's a hole in my sock."

"Is there?" She was amused at that. She looked back at the area of carpet in front of her. "Thanks for sealing the scene as early as you did. This place is a treasure trove."

"What have you found?"

"Your shooter made a mistake." She gestured with her pen, indicating an oval area to her left. "There's a gun power residue pattern here, and he walked through it when he crossed over to the connecting door to shoot the Swans. And over there—" she pointed to the right—"he put his right foot down on a blood spatter arc. Inside the door he's left the edge of a shoe print with blood on it. We've got blood traces in the hall coming from the sole of his right shoe."

"Can you tell me anything about him?"

"Sure. He's not a very good shot." She indicated the shots that had killed Judge Whitmore. "Look at the spread of these three hits."

Edward had never figured out how things that made even cops queasy Leah could work around without a qualm. Dead didn't bother her.

"Other than that, not much. Ask me again after I get the autopsy finished and start putting together the forensic data. I'll have to put some geometry into the entry and exit wounds, the blood spatters. Give me enough time and I'll probably be able to give you the shooter's height, weight, and what he ate for dinner."

She wasn't being facetious. In a case last year she had figured out the killer liked clams from a toothpick found at the scene. In a town with one seafood restaurant, it had been useful information. "Bella said his shoes were highly polished," Edward told her.

"Really? Useful. I may be able to get you a brand name on the shoes. Think she might be able to remember details?"

"I'll ask."

"This is a nice, tight, dense weave carpet. We should be able to get some good images with a high contrast photograph." While she spoke, Leah collected several samples of Carl's blood, sealing it into vials. It was a harsh reality, but by the time the body reached the morgue to be autopsied, most shooting victims had bled almost totally out.

She got to her feet, careful to step back on the black tape. "If you have to enter the room, stay on the tape," she warned. "We've done a fiber lift from there so we can move around, but the rest of the room is still unprocessed."  
She closed the vials in a biohazard evidence bag, sealed it with a bar code, initialed the tag, and passed the sack to a technician to document. "We should be done with the photographs within the hour, then the real work will begin. Between the fiber evidence and the fingerprints, we'll be here well into the day."

There were shell casings numbered. Holes in the plaster circled with black marker. Mist like blood splatters typical of gunshot wounds. Edward saw evidence marker number 74 set beside the overturned phone. "The bloody fingerprint on the phone is likely Bella's. She was the one who called the desk."

"A lady that can keep her cool."

"Yes."

"Whenever you can make the unobtrusive request, I'll need her fingerprints and those of her family."

"I'll arrange it."

"Emmett, I'll need fingerprints of everyone who entered the room, including the paramedics."

"I'll get them."

"What's this?" Edward asked. A black circle had been drawn on the carpet.

"We've got one bullet that ended up in the hotel room one floor below," Emmett replied.

"How did that happen?"

"A fluke of bad construction. We were lucky, the room was unoccupied."

"Am I the only one already beginning to think this case is going to be bad luck around every corner?"

"Sam would agree with you. He's growling."

"He hates getting shot at, not to mention not being able to track his quarry."

* * *

The hotel lounge off the sixth floor atrium was abuzz with word that there had been a shooting. Jacob sat at a window table, sipping his drink, ignoring the commotion.

The judge was dead. Retribution was a beautiful word.

"Did we negotiate a great deal or what? They folded, just like you predicted, more concerned with the size of their golden parachutes than the final terms of the sale." His partner in the merger talks was in festive spirits. When the formalities concluded tomorrow on the 43 million dollar merger of two law firms, the man would personally walk away with almost 4 million. "Having the talks under the cover of this conference was a stroke of brilliance. There won't be anyone cutting in to steal this deal away."

Jacob turned the glass in his hand, only half listening. The merger could have gone in the trash for all he cared. The discussions had already accomplished what he hoped for—they had given him an alibi that would be very hard to penetrate. He watched the officers down below on the street look for him: a well-dressed man with thinning gray hair and thin mustache.

His thick black hair, lack of mustache, dark glasses, and rumpled shirt showing the effects of working marathon sessions for the last three days had not merited him more than a passing glance by the cops moving through the hotel. Even with the sketch he envisioned they would eventually have, they were in for a rude surprise. Tomorrow he would stroll out of the hotel, just another guest. The gun was locked in his room safe. What better way to protect the evidence than to let the hotel do it for him?

Did they realize he was still sitting in their hotel? Personally, he thought that was the most brilliant portion of his plan.

There should not have been a witness to the actual shooting and he scowled again at the memory. Their presence had cut severely into his escape time and had nearly gotten him caught. Now the excitement was over. He had always assumed someone would see him nears the judge's room and had used that to his advantage. It was the best principle of deception. They were looking for him, without realizing they were looking for someone who looked only vaguely like him. And a lot like someone else.

And all they needed to do was bring in one suspect, conduct one eye witness lineup based on that misleading information and he would be able to discredit any eyewitness testimony they tried to use later. Reasonable doubt allowed for so much useful maneuvering.

Only one person had really seen him, and he had seen her. He had tonight to figure out how to deal with that. And he would…he most certainly would. Daniel had warmed him it took only one mistake.

His father would be horrified. His good son had just gone irreversibly bad. Jacob smiled at his drink. He'd never wanted to be the good son. By the time Billy realized what he had done, all the loose ends would be wrapped up. Even Billy would not be able to deny him his rightful place in the business then. Jacob had earned his place.

He raised his drink and silently drank a toast to his dead brother Daniel. May he now rest in peace.

* * *

I'll be sending out little teasers of the next chapter as review responses, maybe that'll bring some lurkers out :)


	6. Five

Five

Bella leaned against the wall beside her mom's hospital room window and watched traffic flow on the street below, red taillights breaking the darkness marking outbound traffic. Two A.M., and still the city did not sleep. She had been down in traffic like that before, rushing home only to turn around and come back to work while it was not yet dawn. In the intense last few months of campaigns, life ran at a seven day a week, twenty-four hour a day pace. She wished her life was that simple again, when being rushed for time was the biggest stress in her day.

Someone murdered Carl.

Who? Why?

Her dad and brother being shot were incidental to him. He destroyed her family and it was incidental to him. She wanted this guy. Desperately. And while she knew the marshals would be all over this case because Carl had been killed, she couldn't leave it there.

There was no one who knew Carl better than herself and her dad. She had personally read all of Carl's cases and writings in the last few weeks. Somewhere in her memory, or in her father's, was the person with a motive to kill Carl.

She drank the hot coffee the nurse had gotten for her, pushing back fatigue. Waiting for news was hard. There was no word from the doctors on Joshua or dad. At least her mom was stable for the moment.

Bella prayed again for her dad and Josh, feeling the heavy weight of guilt knowing they had been hurt because of her. If only she had never written that brief. The emotion had run its course and now there was only deep weariness. She prayed for the long night to be over.

Bella turned when the door opened slowly with a soft whoosh of air. In the dim light of the room she recognized Edward. She didn't envy the man with the job he had to do. He paused in the doorway and looked over at her mom, then nodded to the hall.

With a final look to confirm her mom was soundly sleeping, she crossed the room to join him in the hallway.

Edward weathered better under pressure than she did. His gaze was steady and calm. She knew every bit of the stress from the last hours reflected in her face, and he wasn't missing much of that as he studied her. She hadn't been under this kind of intense scrutiny in a while. He was judging how well she was holding up, gauging what she could handle hearing.

"They've looked at your cheek?"

His question surprised her. She touched the bandage. "Yes, it will heal. Thanks for asking." The doctor had warned there might be a scar, but she didn't care. It was only the outward scar of a much bigger inward wound she would carry forever. "You've got news?"

"They're brining Joshua down from surgery to the recovery room. He'll be there about an hour before they move him to the ICU, but the surgeon okayed a brief visit for now."

Bella hesitated.

His look gentled. "The unknown is always worse than the truth."

"Even when the truth is going to be pretty bad?

"Even then. Let's go talk to the surgeon."

The surgeon met them outside the recovery room still wearing his scrubs. Bella listened but didn't really hear much of what he was saying, her focus on the marked doors behind them. "Thank you, doctor."

"He came through surgery well, Miss Swan. Please remember that when you see him." He held the recovery room doors open for her.

Bella followed a nurse, aware of Edward immediately behind her, glad she wasn't entering this sterile, white place alone. The faint hum of machines was as much a part of the backdrop of sound as the quiet movement of the nurses.

"Joshua." She swallowed hard when she saw him, for most of the right side of his chest and all of his right shoulder were swallowed in bandages. He was breathing on his own and his color was pretty good, but the amount of damage was worse than she had expected.

A warm, firm hand curled over her shoulder and squeezed gently. "It looks worse than it is," Edward whispered. "Remember what the surgeon said."

Pins in his collarbone. Torn muscles. Ninety percent recoverable. That was all supposed to be positive news. It just didn't change the fact Josh had been shot. She hated hospitals, was afraid of what she saw; it reminded her too much of those long weeks when they had almost lost mom.

_Push it away. That's the past. And family needs you now – strong, together. _She leaned over and gripped Josh's hand. "Hey Josh, the nurses are pretty here you haven't even noticed yet." He didn't stir, wouldn't for hours yet. "You always did like to sleep through the big adventures." She wanted to cry rather than razz him, but she refused to let the tears fall.

"Sit down, Bella," Edward offered, having retrieved a chair. "You're the best medicine there is for him right now."

She took the seat, grateful, and continued talking to Josh, letting the conversation wander, just wanting him to hear her voice.

Josh was going to have a nasty six months of recovery. There would be months of physical therapy to be able to lift his arm, rotate his shoulder, carry a briefcase. Even writing was going to be a problem in the next few weeks. He had paid that price for her. How was she ever going to repay him?

Edward pulled over a seat for himself, sat down, and stretched out his legs, steepling his hands. Bella appreciated his quietness. He was a man with stillness inside, not someone in perpetual motion. She wished she could borrow that trait. She burned through energy like a hot candle, at the moment she felt like she was burning down the end of the wick. "You need to change your shirt." There was dried blood on the white cuff.

"I'm sorry, I didn't notice---"

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I didn't mean it that way. You paid the price for tonight as well. I'm sorry about that."  
"I would have preferred being able to stop him."

At the disgusted sound in his voice she turned toward Edward. He really meant it. He would have preferred to be in the middle of an unavoidable shoot-out with the man than to have arrived too late to do anything bout it. His job took a courage she would never understand.

As calm and still as he was, she suspected he was actually very much on a hair trigger to react if necessary. He wasn't sitting beside her with his jacket open and a sidearm visible because he had free time. He was beside her because there had been a realistic judgment among the marshals that she needed that kind of protection.

He was responding like a cop. She wished she knew how to tell him thanks. "The shooter nearly destroyed my family and it was entirely incidental to him."

"Trust me, it's not incidental to those of us working the case."

"I wish I had been able to help you more with what happened."

"On the contrary, you gave us a great deal. Focus on your family, we'll find the man responsible."

"I want to help."

"Bella----"

"I know I fell apart on you earlier, but I won't again. You need a motive and there is no one who knows Carl better than myself and Dad."

He didn't say anything for several moments. "Deal."

He attached no strings, but she knew they were there. To get access to the investigation, she would put up with a lot of strings. She hadn't grown up around three lawyers without understanding how a criminal case was built. They would find the shooter, and she would insure they had a conviction. Not to do everything she could would be a let down to Carl and the price he had paid.

Edward looked over at her, concerned, and she realized her emotions must have been showing on her face. She forced herself to relax. _Josh stirred and she tightened her hand on his. Get better, Josh. I need you. I don't want to be the strong one in this family_.

After they left the recovery room, Edward walked Bella back to the waiting room. He watched with concern as she sank down on the couch. "You need to get some sleep." It was coming up on 3 A.M., and her voice was beginning to drift when she spoke.

"I close my eyes and I see it happen," she admitted quietly. "I'll wait a bit longer before I face the dreams."

Edward took a seat in the chair near the couch and braced his elbows on his knees as he studied her. He felt for her and the reality of what she would go through in the next few weeks. The trauma would show in so many ways: being spooked by sudden sounds, hesitation before walking into a room, fear of the dark, headaches, mood swings- her system would purge the emotions of that memory trapped in a slice of time in numerous ways.

He wasn't a trauma counselor like his sister Emily, but he knew where the healing had to begin. "When you close your eyes, where does it start?"

"With my hand reaching up to knock on the door. If only I hadn't froze---"

He wasn't surprised at what troubled her the most. "Because you froze in the doorway, it was your fault?"

"It feels like it."

"How long did you freeze? Two seconds? Three? How long before it registered and you got your voice to scream?"

"A few seconds."

"If you had been able to scream and distract the gunman, would his shots have missed Carl? Would he still be alive?"

She blinked. "When the door swung open, Carl was already beginning to fall; I heard the echo of the shots."

"So you couldn't have saved Carl," Edward replied quietly. "If you'd been able to scream sooner, would you have been able to save your father?"

"I don't know."

"Bella, your screams saved your family. They flustered the shooter." He had to make her understand the importance of that. "Don't let your emotions believe a lie. They will never heal if you do. You did the only thing you could."

"I'm never going to be able to forget."

"No, but you'll remember the reality, not a distortion. You're dealing with it remarkably well."

"I'm shaking like a leaf."

"But you're not folding. Give yourself credit for that." He wished he could convey to her just how impressed he was with that fact. The strength inside her was showing. "Are you sure you don't want me to get someone to wait with you? There are a number of people who have asked if they can come up. Friends of your family, of Carl."

She shook her head. "No, I'm hiding. I know it. But at the moment it's easier. The family will be arriving later today, there will be plenty of people then." She looked over at him and there was some ruefulness to her look. "In the meantime, I'll just dump it on you."

"I've got broad shoulders," he replied, willing to take whatever pressure he could off her. She had put up a wall between herself and the rest of the world as a way to deal with the crisis, and he had no desire to push her out of that safe security. "You really do need to get some rest though, at least catnap for a while. I'll wake you the instant there is news."

Since she was yawning, she didn't protest again. She stretched out on the couch, tucked her arm under her head. "Would you pray for my family?"

Her request surprised him, and put him in a hard position. He had believed, a long time ago, but now…

She noticed his hesitation. "You're not a believer."

It was more complex than that, but—"No, I'm not."

"I won't apologize for embarrassing you. You should be."

No apology; no backpedaling. A woman not afraid to keep to her position and believe she was right. He found that frankness refreshing. Even if he knew she was wrong. "I'll be glad to ask those I know who do believe to pray."

"Thank you. I would appreciate it."

He heard the warmth in her reply; she meant that, and he added another nugget to what he knew about her. It didn't bother her when someone didn't agree with her. That was rare.

Leah was like that. Confident in her position, willing to swim upstream to defend it. Rosalie staked a position and frankly didn't care if anyone agreed with her as long as she knew she was right. Alice wanted everyone to agree with her but would stand alone if she could convince no one else to stand with her. He smiled. The family never let that happen.

He watched Bella drift to sleep.

The only sound in the room was the muted passing of people in the hall outside. He needed to talk to Sam. It was after 3:00 A.M and the manhunt should have seen some results with the sketch, but he found himself reluctant to move.

He had noticed that when Bella spoke about the terror, she had not mentioned the fact the shooter had tried to kill her. What she had mentioned was that she hadn't done enough to help her family. While he understood that, he would do anything for the Cullen's, he also knew the silence spoke volumes, for it was signaling that was the one fact she couldn't cope with and so hadn't yet processed.

The harshest night of her life and the only thing he could really do was make sure no one tried to kill her again. It was a bleak assessment to live with.

He hoped she would sleep until morning but knew that was doubtful.

He reached for his phone and punched in the numbers to page Alice. It was one thing he could offer Bella. He had seen her reaction to entering the recovery room. He didn't want her facing the maze of medical questions and doctors without someone there to interpret what was said. And no one had a better bedside manner than Alice. Having spent a short time with Bella and knowing Alice, he suspected the two would strike it off as friends.

* * *

"Show me where you lost him, Sam."

Edward followed Leah and Sam into the stairway. Listening to them when he was functioning almost totally on caffeine was not a smart move. Leah was peppering Sam with question that had no answers.

Edward had worked cases with Leah before; he knew how good she was. Not only did she approach cases differently, her mind simply didn't work like most people's. She saw connections other missed. Her curiosity only got her in trouble when someone let her get out into the field without a chaperone. He didn't think Sam would be letting that happen in this case.

Leah paused and rubbed her thumb across the scar in the concrete where the bullet had been removed. "You fell down the stairs."

"Guilty," Sam replied. "I was looking down the stairs thinking he had gone that way when he shot at me from above. I wasn't worried about saving my pride, just getting out of the way."

"I wasn't implying it was funny. I'm glad you didn't break an ankle."

"The last I saw him was…there." Sam pointed. "After I stopped tumbling and worked my way back up the stairs, he was gone. So where did he go? The agents coming down from above had him pinned below the fourteenth floor."

Leah walked up the stairs and disappeared from sight. "For him to have gotten a shot off at you—" her face reappeared—"he had to be here. Then he turns…" She hit the wall with her hand. "As soon as I reach for the stairway door, I drop out of your line of sight. He could have gone out of the stairway as soon as he fired."

"Do it. Exit the stairway at the tenth floor and let's see if we can hear you," Edward asked.

He looked up at Sam as they both heard the metal door close. "I don't know, Edward. By the time I stopped falling and could hear again, the door could have already clicked closed."

"Could you hear it?" Leah called down.

"Yes. Go up to eleven and try it there. And run up the stairs."

They could hear her on the stairs. "I'm sure I heard him on the stairs, Edward. I remember it sounded like a clatter; Leah is wearing tennis shoes and it was more distinct than that. I don't think he got off on ten," Sam said.

The sound of a stairway door closing was audible but much fainter. "It could have been eleven," Edward realized.

"Yes."

They walked up the stairs to join Leah at the eleventh floor landing. "What do you think?"

"Eleven, twelve, or thirteen," Sam confirmed.

"You said you heard his shoes? Leah asked.

Edward recognized that vaguely unfocused look on her face. "What?"

She shook her head and looked at the stairs going up. "Start back at ten and look hard at the steps for anything that looks like a print, a scuff. The technicians were through here once but came up blank, and that was a surprise." She started walking up.

Edward and Sam shared a look. They had just been dismissed to doing tech work. "You can almost see the ideas percolating," Sam remarked.

"She's a bulldog." They started down the stairs. "Where are we at with the sketch?"

"We're getting decent coverage: the hotel guests and staff, officers throughout the area- the airports, trains, and buses- they're also running it by taxi drivers, giving it to tollbooth attendants. We've got officers canvassing the surrounding six blocks showing it around; we'll repeat that at dawn.

"All flights going out of O'Hare, Midway, Meigs, or Milwaukee before 8 A.M. are being checked. We're also tracking down every vehicle we can place in this area; the parking garage and area parking lots, pulling the drivers licenses.

"The database guys promised to work a few miracles. By morning, several variations of this sketch will be on every law enforcement officer's desk in the nation. I don't think this is his first criminal act. Someone has to have dealt with this guy before."

Sam's experience showed. All it would take was a nibble somewhere along the line and this manhunt would spring forward. Sam could be ruthless when he was hunting. "When do you want to release it to the media?"

"Top of the hour. We should be ready to absorb the false leads by then."

"Have there been any claims of responsibility?"

"At last count—nine. The two that seemed credible have already been eliminated. They are working to clear the rest."

"You have enough men?"

"I'm getting whatever I ask for," Sam assured. "Washington was clear on that. What I need now is some luck."

"You'll get it."

"Or Leah will create it."

Edward looked at his partner and smiled. "That she will." He sighed and looked down at the stairs. "You know, it is a lot easier tracking someone outdoors."

"Give me a case that has open air, dirt, and mud any day," Sam agreed. They spread out to see what they could find.

"Does this look recent to you?" Edward asked several minutes later. There was a chip in the paint on the wall in the turn to the eleventh floor, about waist high. The gouge was angled, about half an inch long, and deep at one end. Loose plaster fragments were still in the crevices.

"Yes, it does. His gun clipped the wall," Sam speculated.

"That would be my guess."

"At least we found something. Which is more than Leah can say."

"I heard that," she called down. "When you get tired talking about a paint chip, you want to get Walter? And tell him to bring his full kit."

Walter was the best crime technician at the scene. Edward glanced at Sam, and the two of them moved up the stairs. "What have you found?"

She was sitting on the thirteenth floor landing, in her stockinged feet, having sacrificed one of her tennis shoes to use as a doorstop. She had on latex gloves. She was studying the bottom edge of the door. "Does that look like shoe polish and specks of blood to you? It sure does to me." She glanced up at them, a self-satisfied smile on her face. "Your shooter was in a hurry to open the door. He pulled it open right into his highly polished and bloody shoe. At least I think so. The lab will be able to prove it."

"Very nice."

She narrowed her eyes at Sam. "You call me ma'am, I'm going to push you down the stairs."

"I wouldn't dare; ma'am."

Edward put his hand on Leah's shoulder to keep her seated. Sam still hadn't learned. Leash never made an idle threat. "Think you can track where he went once he got out on this floor?" he asked to distract her.

"We'll do a luminal test down the hallway carpet, see if we can pick up any more traces. I'll need you to get the hotel to momentarily shut off the hall lights."

"I'll get it arranged," Edward agreed. "Okay, half his escape route has been found. Sam, let's talk about the interviews being done. We need to talk to everyone on this floor. And I want to start a detailed look at those attending this conference or working in this hotel. Whoever did this was comfortable being here. Leah, what about Carl's hotel room door? Carl had his room key in his hand. So what did the shooter use? Was it a master passkey? A copy? Is there any way we can find out?"

"I'll take a look at the logs and the mechanism."

"I'd appreciate it. Find him for us, Sherlock."

"A guy did this. How hard can it be?"

Edward laughed.

Sam held out his hand to help her to her feet. "You solve it, I'll buy you dinner."

"I solve it, I might even accept."

* * *

The ICU was silent at 4:00 A.M. Bella leaned back against the wall, watching her brother. She had been able to get an hour of sleep before the dreams came; she supposed she should be grateful. "Alice, Edward mentioned when I first met him that he was planning to have a late dinner with his sister. Was that with you?"

It was nice having Edward's sister here. Alice was comfortable around the ICU, the medical equipment didn't intimidate her. And Bella found it very helpful to just have someone listen.

"Rosalie and I," Alice replied. "You had met Edward before this happened?"

"Earlier this evening. I got lost in the hotel," Bella replied, feeling like it had been a year ago. A decade ago.

"That was an interesting comment for him to have made."

"We were going to have coffee later this morning," she said quietly.

"Really? I'm sorry events overtook that."

Bella looked over, hearing the interest in Alice's voice. "It was just coffee."

"Still, an unusual request on his part."

Beneath the fatigue, Bella felt a glimmer of curiosity. "Edward doesn't date?"

"No. And Rosalie, Leah, Emily, and I have been trying to change that."

Four sisters? Bella smiled at that, wondering if Edward felt it was a blessing or a curse. Probably a blessing. "You've got a big family."

"There are seven of us, but it's not exactly a traditional family. We're all orphans. We sort of adopted each other, became our own family. Legally changed our last names."

Bella had heard of many families breaking up but rarely of one so intentionally forming. That must have been a powerful pact. "Seven?"

"It's great group. We are constantly stepping in and out of each other's lives. Edward is the oldest."

"A nice older brother to have. He's protective."

"The guardian of the group," Alice agreed.

"Which are you?"

"The youngest of the family—" Alice smiled—"everyone's favorite."

"An older sister doesn't get the same respect," she replied lightly, amused, thinking about her close relationship with Josh.

Bella crossed back over to a chair. Her body hurt and she eased herself down. Her spirit hurt worse. She could feel the dark depression creeping over her. In the middle of the night it was hard to hold on to optimistic thoughts. "I think I embarrassed Edward when I asked him to pray for my family."

"Don't worry about it. He needs someone to remind him he should reconsider his position. It's hard, after losing parents, to hear about Jesus."

Bella could only imagine how hard that must have been, losing the security of loving parents. She also heard the reality- Alice hoped to someday change his mind.

"The grief must be huge right now."

"It's never felt this dark before," Bella admitted softly.

"Jesus can find you in the darkness."

Those sounded like words from personal experience.

Life had shattered, and none of this made sense anymore. Bella looked at Josh. She let her hand touch the bandage on her cheek. A few more inches and she would be the one in the hospital bed…or dead. _Edward, please find the shooter: I'm afraid of him._

* * *

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